Upon a Moonlit Night
by Raging Tofu
Summary: Everyone needs someone they can lean on, and sometimes, that person may be your closest enemy... SolxKy -still updating-
1. Part 01

**Title:** Upon a Moonlit Night  
**Author:** Raging Tofu  
**Series:** Guilty Gear  
**Type:** Stand-Alone  
**Rating:** Mature  
**Paring:** Sol/Ky  
**Warning:** There's all kinds of trouble that happens...  
**Setting: **Spring 2172 Southern France/Rhone River Valley region  
**Author's Notes:** Late night walks are always so inspirational, and this is because of that.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything of Guilty Gear; it belongs first and foremost to Ishiwatari-san and also to the people of Sammy Studios and Arc Systems.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Sol ignored him and kept walking. This was the third time he had been asked that question, and like the first two, he didn't say anything. There was no need to, but that was the problem with adolescents nowadays; they could never just wait to see something. They had to know immediately. Which was a shame, Sol thought. One could obtain many more answers by just observing.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?"

He was and did. The American turned his attention to the twilight sounds around him, tuning out that nasally tenor. The day was nearing its end; the sky a vibrant orange with streaks of gold and crimson. Spring had arrived the week prior, but the day had been warmer than usual with a mugginess that almost made it feel like summer. The ground was soft and spongy, still wet and full from the rains that drizzled down four days ago, though the sudden increase in humidity may have a hand in that. With dusk falling, frogs and crickets erupted in chorus and a light wind began to blow.

Sol tugged at the collar of his Order uniform. Even with a cool wind billowing, he felt stifled in the heavy layers. Fumbling a bit, he unzipped the clinging shirt letting the breeze kiss his tanned skin. There was always the option of stripping off the extra layers but then that would mean he would have to carry them. Regardless, the sun was setting and it would be cooler after nightfall. Crimson eyes shifted to either side of the gravel road they walked, looking for a suitable place to rest for the night. There wasn't a building in sight. An outcropping would have sufficed, but only wide open fields of untended wheat and wild grass lay to either side of the road; occasionally ending short at a patch of forest. Glancing further up the road, the older man spied another plot of greenwood.

It would be a while before they reached their final destination.

* * *


	2. Part 02

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 02

* * *

-2 days prior-

Ky squinted and rubbed his eyes as he leaned over a large table that was covered in various maps of Europe. All over the pieces of thick paper in brilliant blue ink were small notions, marking the location of Holy Order bases of operation. In black ink were noted the locations of where clashes happened and in red, the position and movement of the Gears. He started intently at the colored symbols, as if trying to burn holes through the paper with his gaze.

_It just doesn't make any sense_, he thought, biting his lower lip. The Gear's movements as of late seemed to be totally erratic and their hoardings were even more confusing. Blue-green eyes glanced from one red marker to the next; their positions seemed totally random. There was nothing strategic about the deployments and reports from the scouting units placed each group of Gears at less than twenty. Hardly a challenge to a squad of Order Knights.

Were the Gears baiting them? Ky furrowed his brow. He couldn't see any other reason why Justice would spread her forces so thin near human territory. What lay beyond the Gear camps, the French boy couldn't be certain. While the scouting units were good, they had never been able as of yet to determine what lay deeper into the northern territory. It was possible a larger Gear regiment laid in wait. Paris was northern most settlement still under human occupation and they were just barely holding out; their supplies and rations were getting low according to the latest reports. Amsterdam and Copenhagen had already fallen and recent intelligence told of sieges at Berlin and Barcelona. No word had been heard from the British Isles in months, he could only pray for their safety. Taking up his pens, Ky reviewed the latest reports and began to make the necessary marks on the maps.

For the most part, it still looked as if the Order was being nudged south and east. He pulled another map out from under the pile. This one showed the countries of Asia and the Middle East and was similarly pocked with blue, black and red. Specks of green dotted the map as well, the largest concentration being in Eastern China. These were the locations of the Japanese Colonies and they were shrinking. They had been the targets of early Gear attacks until defenses were raised, but now it was mostly disease and hunger that were the culprits. Granted it was a problem in every city; being concentrated only seemed to make it worse.

_So what, then? What are they planning? _Frustrated, Ky threw his pen aside and plopped down into a nearby chair. Closing his eyes, the blond rubbed the bridge of his nose and contemplated making a pot of mint tea. He had been reviewing scout reports and intelligence information while pouring over his maps for almost two days straight now. His body was growing weary, it needed rest, but he needed answers. Time was limited and growing shorter; Ky didn't have time for delays. He already felt guilty enough as it was, being in Provence and well away from the front lines. The regiment under his command consisted of just over a hundred able fighting bodies, most of them young and green; Ky was here to oversee their training until they were sufficient enough to be deployed elsewhere. Victories for the Order were dwindling and every loss burned him, making him wish there was something more he could have done.

Recollecting himself, Ky opened his eyes and was taken aback at the disheveled being on the other side of the table. Sol Badguy was probably the only person in the whole Order who could wear the organization's uniform and look out of place. His broad shoulders and slim hips fit the garment well, but it was the rest of him that unbefitting. Wild eyes, the color of blood, glared out from beneath long messy locks of brown hair that looked as if it had been tasseled by wind into an odd array of spikes and tufts. A long ponytail trailed down his backside; it too looking rather tangled and ill kempt. Ky couldn't fathom why the older man wouldn't just run a brush through his hair ever so often; it would look so much nicer. Sol's expression was flat as he stood with the same lazy slouch that Ky had always known him to have.

"What do you want?" he bit the words off sharply. Gone was the refined speech and cordial words; he was far too tired to be pleasant and it felt strangely satisfying to snap at the American for a change. Ky wondered belated why he hadn't heard the brunet enter, but Sol had always been rather quiet in his movements and he doubted slipping past the canvas flap of his campaign tent would have been hardly difficult for the man.

Why Sol was before him was a question as well. Ky never got the impression the older man was fond of his company, nor Ky for the matter; their occasional spars were a testament to that. Even that only further fueled Ky's dislike for his subordinate since as it stood, the blond had yet to win a bout. The fact that Sol could beat him, and repeatedly at that, with almost no effort irritated the French boy to no end. For all of Sol's lethargic nature, his skill with fire and sword were second to none.

"…just wanted to see if you were busy…" the American replied in his usual lazy drawl. He looked completely disinterested in the maps spread out before him, instead keeping his gaze locked on the young Commander.

"Yes, why?" Ky retorted reaching for his pen again. He averted his gaze to the maps again, suddenly feeling nervous under Sol's unblinking stare.

"Cuz there was a Gear sighting just outside of camp…" Sol reached out and picked up one of the maps of France and began to study it. Ky briefly wondered if the older man had ever spoken a complete sentence in his entire life. And then his words sunk in. Ky dropped his pen.

"Idiot!" he yelled as he dashed from the table, grabbing his cloak and Fuuraiken from where he had set them on another chair. "Couldn't you have said something sooner?" He turned towards the table and he swung his cloak on, snapping it in place. Sol was gone. A low growl arose in his throat as he rushed outside.

Ky didn't have to look far to see where the commotion was. Knights of all kinds were gathering at the eastern side of the encampment; many brandishing weapons as they ran past the campaign tent. Ky quickly followed them. As the blond drew near he could already hear the cries of Gears, they sounded numerous.

_An ambush? Gears shouldn't be this close. _His mind raced. The idea seemed unlikely; the scouts would have alerted the camp long before any Gears got this close. Unless they had run into the Gears and had been overwhelmed by them. The Order Commander skidded to a halt as he reached his troops. The Gears had gathered in the open field that the Knights used for sparing and weapons practice. Thankfully, the transportable nodes of magic they had brought for spell cast training were at the other end of the encampment so the Gears wouldn't be able to draw on their energy as efficiently, but that probably wouldn't stop the more magically-inclined creatures from throwing out a few elemental attacks.

"What happened?" Ky demanded of the Knight standing nearest him. The spearman flinched initially, gripping his pole tighter; beads of sweat already dotted his brow. He was young, not even twenty yet, and probably one of the recent recruits.

"Was all quiet, and then," the young man paused to swallow hard. "Then these Gears just barreled out of the forest, screamin' and hackin' at us." He shook with fright. Ky didn't doubt this would be the spearman's first real battle. He scrunched up his face into a snarl as he pushed thru the others, drawing upon his magical reserves for an attack. The ground shook momentarily with tremendous force, almost causing him to loose his balance. When he looked up the sight he saw made his breath hitch in his chest.

About fifty Gears of all types and sizes were tearing into the nearest ranks of soldiers; who were fighting back just as aggressively. Already, the ground was littered with a handful of carcasses from both sides. Behind the regiments of Gears was a Mega Death class Gear. It's hulking form roared loudly over the masses as it raised giant fists and drove them into the earth causing tremors again. The creature had a small triangular maw with visibly razor-like teeth. Two black horns twisted out of its head. The beast slightly resembled a dog and ram; its brownish red fur was already splattered with ichor and blood. It howled an immense cry before two golden eyes settled on a particular human. The Gear mark on its brow glowed a malicious orange.

Ky immediately channeled the necessary magic to mold a Stun Edge and threw it at the colossal creature. The ball of blue lightning hit the Mega Death class Gear in the side of its head and it instantly changed its direction.

"Shut down the nodes!" Ky yelled out before reading himself. Whether or not someone heard him wasn't important as now the large behemoth was staring him down. Ky sliced with a heavy slash to the Gear's chest following up with a Greed Saver. The Gear staggered before recovering. It lashed out with a backhand, whacking the blond Knight off his feet and pitching him. Ky hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out his lungs. He was slow to rise and the Mega Death Gear was already on top of him. It raised a heavy fist and slammed it down at a rigid angle.

Ky felt a sharp pain and then everything went black.

* * *


	3. Part 03

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 03

* * *

Sol blazed thru another one of the smaller reptilian-like Gears; pools of black ichor spilling onto the ground. Another one leapt at him as he stood up but he cut it down with an overhead slash. It fell with a dying scream. He turned around to face the rest of the Order and the remaining Gears and was surprised to see just a few Gears left. Crimson eyes scanned the field noting the ratio of green-brown hides to white uniforms, the latter bearing a slightly lesser number. Throwing his blade over his shoulder, the American left the remaining Gears to the others.

As he neared the rows of canvas tents, one voice carried above all the others. It sounded angry. Sol paused, looking towards the voices location.

Reginald Launchette was at the other end of the field, his medical personal with him. Already there was a small sea of wounded nearby; the Medical Division would have their hands full. The man's rank was Lieutenant but he never exulted in his power; choosing instead to remain a rather humble character. Now though, he was barking orders left and right, strands of his raven hair escaping from the short queue he wore it in. Intense blue eyes bore down at solider before him, his hands working frantically to stop the bleeding in the axe wielder's side.

Sol had never spoken to the man personally and he never saw any reason too. As word had it, the Lieutenant rather liked his solitude; giving his books more of an audience than actual people. A few times Sol had seen the man with Ky Kiske, the two of them conversing some matter quietly over cups of tea. Reginald had close to fourteen years on the young Commander but despite that, he seemed to like the blond's company well enough.

"Another basin of water!" he shouted, pushing the small silver rimmed lenses he wore back up the bridge of his nose. One of his subordinates, a woman with full brown curls dashed away. She returned moments later with the cool liquid and he began cleaning his newest patient's wounds—several long gashes to the chest and arms. Like clockwork, he and his associates toiled and, shortly later the injured were taken care of, sent to the medical tents for further treatment.

Reginald heaved a sigh. "Thirty-seven wounded and twenty-one fallen," he said under his breath. "Bloody hell." He rubbed a palm against his brow leaving a faint stain of blood. Adjusting his glasses again, the Lieutenant turned towards Sol who was standing to the side. "Wotcher? You need something?" If there was one thing unique about Reginald, it was his speech. Despite the man's British-French heritage, he spent most of his life growing up in England and as such, picked up their manner of speaking.

"Nope." Sol shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and ambled by.

Just then a blur of white and brown raced past him, towards the Medical Division head. It was the woman who had fetched water before. She stopped breathless at the Lieutenant's side; hands on knees while she heaved for breath.

"Well, what is it?"

"Three missing sir," she gasped before righting. Her uniform was standard, but cut a bit more fittingly then the men's. The trim and front panel were honey-brown, the same shade as her hair.

Reginald pursed his lips before asking, "Who?"

"Brendan Jameson, First Division swordsman, Hubert Kollwitz, Third Magic Defense Division Firecaster, and…" she hesitated. Her superior raised an eyebrow. "Commander Kiske."

Sol stopped in his tracks. Reginald swore quietly under his breath.

"Alright," he turned to the others gathered. "I want all of you to find out from the other Divisions what happened to these three and if anyone saw anything. Check the field and forest for any signs. It is imperative we find them." The other members of the Medical Division nodded in unison before taking off. Reginald faced to the brunette. "Maria, have the other senior officers meet in the campaign tent. I'll join them shortly." She gave a polite nod. Pushing up his glasses again, Reginald headed for his own tent. His uniform was splattered in blood; his forearms were covered in the sticky substance. The time it would take to gather the other officers would be long enough for him to clean up and change.

Things were going to get chaotic.

* * *


	4. Part 04

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 04

* * *

His head hurt and there was something cold under his cheek. Ky blearily opened his eyes and tried to sit up but his whole body felt like dead weight. There was a dull pounding in his forehead. He shut his eyes again against the pain, but it wouldn't go away. And he was incredible thirsty. The blond's mouth was parched as he swallowed forcibly.

"Hey," a voice called out in a horse whisper. "You awake, sir?"

Ky opened his eyes again and faced the voice. Everything took a moment to come into focus. Brown eyes peered down at him. There was a man sitting next to him wearing a black and white uniform. He had black hair cropped short and his face carried a scuff or two. Ky took a moment to put name a face together.

"Brendan Jameson…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where are we?" Ky groaned a bit as he sat up. His surroundings were spinning. He wanted to close his eyes again but was afraid he would pass out if he did.

"Don't know, sir," the Knight responded. "Last thing I can recall is fighting the Gears that attacked camp and then waking up here."

Ky looked about their new environment. They seemed to be in a small room with dirty floors and cinderblock walls that rose high; at least twice a man's height. Further above were thick heavy beams that look rotted. To his left, iron bars had been crudely shaped and jammed into the surrounding stone, creating a rudimentary gate of sorts. Beyond the bars was dim, Ky could just barely make out another cell on the other side. Weak sunlight filtered in from the holes in the walls.

_So we've been captured…_ He turned to Jameson. "Were there any others? Here, with us?" Ky wondered if the Gears had overrun the camp entirely, taking everyone prisoner. The thought seemed unlikely. There had never been any reports of Gears taking humans hostage for any reason. Though, there were the occasional missing persons.

The swordsman nodded. "Hubert Kollwitz was here too, but got taken away shortly after I came to."

"Taken away?"

"Two Gears, big burly ones, came and got him. Don't know where they took him," he replied lowering his voice. "Said something about information." Ky furrowed his brow, furious. Then, as if on cue, a howl of agony swept thru the building. It sounded human. Jameson swore and his Commander felt bile rise in the back of his throat. The two of them sat in silence while another scream ripped through the compound.

"Bastards…" the young Knight growled again through gritted teeth. They both knew it was beyond them to do anything. Even if they could, they were still amidst a horde of Gears; the nearest Order base was who-knew-how-far away. For Kollwitz's sake, Ky prayed for a swift end. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jameson struggle to his feet then limp towards the wall to the right. There was a deep gash on the swordsman's right thigh that the blond hadn't noticed before. The right leg of his pants was soaked in dark, red liquid. When he had reached the wall, Jameson peered out of one of the holes from where one of the cinder blocks had cracked and fallen loose.

"What do you see?"

"Not much," he replied. "There's some other structures to the left, no clue what they're for though. One of 'em's got a bunch of thick cables coming out of it." Jameson scoffed. "Enough Gears milling about to look like a small village."

Ky bit his lip at the last comment. He had hoped there weren't an abundance of Gears, but from Jameson's remarks, it seemed like they had gone beyond the borders of Gear territory. There was no telling exactly where they were but there was a good chance they were in deep. "And to the right?" he asked.

"Can't really tell," the other said after a moment. "There's some brush, but this building extends further out that way so I can't see around it." He turned away from the fist-sized hole and hobbled back over to the blond, almost falling into a heap on the grimy floor.

"How's your leg?"

"Not so good," Jameson replied, wiping his brow on his sleeve. Back during the battle he had been engaging a bulky, human-sized Gear when a smaller one crashed into him. It shrieked a howl, an oversized tongue lolling over the edge of its jaw. Before the swordsman had even moved, the small Gear shoved off, the talons on its hind legs digging deep into the flesh. There was a lot of pain and then darkness. When he awoke, the wound was no longer flowing blood; rather a slow oozing that was gradually hardening. He cleaned the gash as best he could, and then wrapped it with strips ripped from his cloak. They had bled through in under an hour. There was no way to tell how much blood he had lost during the transit from the Order's field to the Gear base, but his gut told him it was a dangerous amount. He couldn't move without breaking into a cold sweat and any pressure he put on his leg caused excruciating pain to flare up. There was a good chance it was poisoned.

"You've got a pretty good trophy there yourself, sir," Jameson said, pointing at his Commander's head. Ky tentatively reached up. His fingertips brushed a hard ridge that began just above his right eyebrow and disappeared in his hairline. It felt sticky. Well, at least he wasn't feeling dizzy anymore.

* * *


	5. Part 05

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 05

* * *

It was several hours later when Ky heard a groan. He had been peering out of the cell's 'window' staring at the night sky. While he could only see a portion of the constellations, the blond was able to determine that they were north and west from the base near Provence. The moon's glow spilled over the compound, alighting the cluster of squat buildings in view. Ky couldn't see the white orb directly; it rose behind their building. It was bright, but not luminous enough to be a full moon so it was highly likely that the attack and his waking up in this cell happened within the same day.

Ky turned around to face darkness when he heard the moan. He strained his eyes, trying to pick out the darker silhouette of Jameson's body against the black. "Jameson," he called out, but there was no answer. Placing his hand against the wall, the blond felt his way along the small room until he came to where the two of them had been sitting earlier. He dropped to the ground and slowly reached out. He touched coarse fabric.

"Jameson," he called out again, more strongly this time. Still no response, though he did hear what sounded like labored breathing. Ky followed the material, finding the swordsman was laid out flat on the floor and not sitting upright like Ky had thought. He felt the cool metal of the ubiquitous buckle plates all of the Knights wore with their uniforms. A chill hand clasped his suddenly. "Are you alright?" Ky asked, though in his heart, he already knew the answer.

"No," Jameson wheezed. By now the Commander's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could make out the other's face. Ky laid a hand against the man's forehead. It was burning; he had slipped into fever. "It hurts," Jameson gasped, his breathes growing shallower. He groaned again with pain. "Feels like fire…" Ky looked down at the young man's leg. Even in darkness, he could see the darker stain of blood on the white trousers; he could see how the patch was growing and spreading onto the floor. Ky also saw something else- a glint of metal next to the leg. He picked it up. It was a small dagger; the kind one could conceal up a shirtsleeve, in a tall boot or under, Ky thought with certainty, an armguard.

"I did it," Jameson grunted as he grappled with pain. He answered the question his superior feared to ask. "Better to go like this…. than under whatever torture…. those beasts have waiting for me." There was a hiss and then his body began to tremor. Clouded eyes gazed in the blond's direction. "Do you hate me…for what I did?"

"No," Ky answered softly. There was nothing he could do now, so at the very least, he would try to ease the other's conscious. "You've been a good man." Ky clasped the hand that was still clutching his.

The other tried to chuckle at that, but it caught in his throat and came out as a wheeze. He shook again; griping Ky's hand tighter and then suddenly went lax. The blond waited a moment before prying his hand loose. He said a prayer as he folded the swordsman's hand atop his chest, making it look as if he was just sleeping peacefully and not really dead.

Ky slowly sat back on his feet, hands fisted. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his head started to swim again. It was shaky when he exhaled. And then the panic set in. He was alone; completely and utterly alone. The blond tried to swallow, but it just became a hard lump in is throat. He felt sick and his pulse quickened; he could feel his heart thundering rapidly in his chest. He was alone, lost in the western wilderness of France, captured by Gears. Did anyone know where he was? Was anyone coming? Or did they think he was dead? His mind raced; he could imagine the others under his command as they regrouped after the battle, noting his absence. They'd probably search the base and field and after still finding nothing, assume their Commander had either been killed or captured, which was a fate just as bad.

No one who went missing ever came back.

He wasn't coming back.

They weren't going to find him.

The Gears would have their way with him and then kill him.

He was going to die here.

Ky opened his mouth and tried to inhale a much-needed breath of air; his chest felt tight. He felt something else and scrambled the few feet to the other wall, braced himself against it and heaved. The bile burned his throat as he hurled, his breaths still short. When he had finished, Ky wiped his mouth and shuffled away from the mess. He could hear his blood thudding in his ears. Belatedly, the Commander realized he no longer had Fuuraiken, his constant companion, with him, which only made his panic worse. He needed some way to defend himself; he didn't want his life to end here.

_Someone must be looking for me! They wouldn't just give up!_ Ky told himself, but knew it was a lie. They wouldn't know where to look; they probably hadn't even known he was gone until long after the last few Gears fled away retreating. It had already been almost a full day, time was running out. If help didn't come soon, and quickly…Ky couldn't even finish his thoughts without becoming mortified. He started to hyperventilate.

He wished someone knew where he was.

He wished they were coming.

He wished he had Fuuraiken.

He wished someone; _anyone_ was there with him.

Ky curled his knees up to his chest, gripping them tight. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, but they did not fall. Air heaved in and out of his lungs, but the blond felt like he was suffocating. There was a heavy _clang_, but it sounded distant; his ears were filled with the low thudding of his pounding heart. Through bleary pools of unshed tears, Ky looked up to see a large, distorted silhouette. His pulse quickened.

* * *


	6. Part 06

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 06

* * *

Sol sniffed the air tentatively. It smelt of campfires, blood, sweaty hides and carcasses. It smelt like a Gear, or more specifically, a gathering of Gears. Sol sat very still, balanced on a wide oak branch. Through the foliage he could just make out the shapes of several buildings; the intermittent orange glow of bonfires scattered between them. Focusing, he counted up the number of Gears he could sense. There was about forty and at least one unusually strong presence that was like a Mega Death Gear. Chances were, it was the same Mega Death that had attacked the Order base earlier that morning and chances were also good, it was the same Gear Sol had been tracking.

Near then end of the battle, the behemoth Gear had vanished, which Sol thought was peculiar, though not unlikely. When the disappearance of three of the Knights was announced he knew exactly what had happened and immediately set out after the beast. It had taken him half the day to catch up to the Gear; it was bloody quick and showed no signs of fatigue. They had traversed through countryside and city, Sol estimated close to fifty miles. A few times he had lost sight of the creature, mostly because he had to stray in a far, rounding half-circle to avoid a band of Gears when they passed one. When the Gear finally slowed down, Sol dropped back. He paused long enough to catch his second wind and then moved in on foot, cautious not to alert any other Gears to his presence. The sun hung low in the sky.

A few hours later, the American came to the edge of the forest and a clearing. The moon was high and what nightlife there was had come alive. Spying a large, old oak tree to his right, Sol headed for it and swung easily up its lofty branches.

His eyes scanned the area again, noting the number and position of the sentries. A few of them were patrolling particular parts of the compound. The Mega Death Gear was nowhere in sight. There was one building specifically that held the brunet's interest. It sat furthest from the center of the Gear base, and was relatively close to him. There were no sentries at it door, which Sol felt was odd, given that he had sensed human presences there. No doubt that's where the captives were. If that were true, and given how close the dilapidated structure was to the woods, then slipping away wouldn't be difficult. At least not until the Gears discovered that their newly acquired treasures were gone. Then they'd have some problems.

Something caught his eye. Off to his right there was a shimmer of white. Sol averted his gaze from the small stone hut and watched as one of the wandering sentries picked up an object from the tall grass. It was long and white and it made Sol's blood boil. He watched intensely as the creature handled Fuuraiken. It touched the white blade and there was a bight spark of blue accompanied by a small crack of thunder. The Gear dropped the weapon instantly, a wail of shock and pain escaping. It shook its hand, flexing humanistic fingers before turning its attention back to the fallen sword. The Gear hissed threateningly at it. Sol almost wanted to laugh at the creature's stupidity, but that was a Gear's nature, or at least the nature of those who hadn't been able to keep their wits about them.

Still, the fact that Fuuraiken had fallen into their hands was now a dilemma. Silently, Sol slipped down from the oak and began circling around, running just beyond the tree line, towards where the Gear and magic sword were. He gripped the hilt of his own weapon tighter before dashing out of the woods upon the unsuspecting Gear. There weren't any nodes nearby, but Sol didn't need them. He had learned long ago how to draw off and make the best use of what little magic was available. He cleanly lopped off the creature's head with one swing, but not before it screeched in alarm, alerting the other sentries to the intruder. It wasn't long before the whole contingent had surrounded the rogue Knight.

* * *


	7. Part 07

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 07

* * *

Reginald pushed his silver rimmed glasses back up his nose, but they still slid slightly back down. It was very late, the sun had already set several hours ago and he was still at it. The medical tent had at least become quieter; those who were injured had either finally calmed down or whatever painkiller and sedatives they were given had finally started to take effect. Aside from small chatter between the other members of the Medical Unit, the only other real audible sound was the faint hum of magic that was being used on the more serious wounds.

The Lieutenant sighed as he set aside his tools; if the need were great enough he would roll up his sleeves and work right alongside his men. And it had been. Officers were still soldiers too, and he saw no sense in just standing around barking orders while others did all the work. He had just finished stitching a long gash on the forearm of one of the female Knights- a bowwoman. A Gear had attacked her, leaving the slash, but also causing her longbow to snap, there was a fresh cut under her left eye from where the string struck her. Reginald ran two fingers over the stitches; summoning what little natural magic he had left. The woman's bruised flesh began to turn back to its normal shade and the wound began to heal a little faster.

"You should take care, sir, not to exhaust yourself. Lest you want to end up ill." At once, Maria was at his elbow carrying a fresh basin of warm water. The Medical Division leader took it silently and dipped his hands into the clear liquid, temporarily mesmerized by the twisting trails of pink-red that tinted the water. He scrubbed his hands clean and took the towel she offered him.

"We'll need as many Knights as we can get for the battles ahead and if I can speed up the process to increase that number I will," he replied more sharply than intended. From the original thirty-seven wounded Knights another nine had been lost to their injuries bringing the death toll to a solid thirty providing none of the Knights resting in the cots around him expired during the night. Maria drew back and began to turn down the lamps that were scattered throughout the large tent. Reginald gathered his shoulder cape from where he tossed it over a stool earlier in the evening and stepped out into the cool night air.

The rest of the encampment was already quiet, aside from the sentries that lurked about. Their numbers had been increased for the night, in case another horde of Gears decided to attack them in their weakened state. The Lieutenant parted the flap of the campaign tent and stepped inside; three faces turning to meet him. The first was a fiery-haired maiden with piercing teal eyes. Arianne Thallassa was a formidable fighter who was highly skilled in Water Magic, and as such, often worked along the Order-controlled coastlines. Directly behind her stood a large man, far taller than Reginald who sported a healthy 6-foot height. The man also had a broad build, but despite his shear size Harmon Greeves was a placid person. He also had a long mane of honey-blond hair that never ceased to shock Reginald since the Lieutenant thought the appearance made him look rather feminine. The last member was one Reginald didn't recognize.

"So? What's the word?" Arianne quipped almost as soon as he had entered. She wound one finger around stray a lock of her coppery hair.

"We lost another nine and with the twenty or so still wounded our forces here have been halved," he replied pushing his glasses up again. Setting his mouth in a firm line the Lieutenant turned to the larger man. "Has there been any response yet from the other bases?" Shortly after their Commander's disappearance messages were sent to every Order post advising them of the situation. The other bases were also to be on the lookout in case Ky Kiske happened to return to one of them.

Sergeant Greeves was head of the Scouting and Information Unit and as such, the messages were his duty. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Not yet, there hasn't. And aside from Miss Arianne there are no other units headed for us." The blond threw a look at her before crossing his arms against the green and white fabric of his uniform. "Would you like us to put together a search party?"

"No," Reginald furrowed his brows and bit is lower lip. "We don't have any information about where those Gears came from and where they went." He walked over to the large table with the maps spread out over it. "Given how much time has passed, they could be anywhere in here," he moved a finger over the parchment, outlining the border of the Gear's ever-increasing territory. He bit his lip again. While Ky Kiske's sudden departure was cause enough for panic, there had been the greater need of securing the wounded so the recovery of their beloved Commander had to set aside. This fact irritated the Lieutenant; they lost a lot of precious time due to the delay.

He also had to have faith in their young Commander. Reginald knew as well as any Knight that French boy would give his captors hell and would make an effort to get back to them. He would try to reach them somehow, and if he couldn't, well the boy wasn't superbly skilled in the Lightning element for nothing. Even so, the bespectacled man couldn't help but consider the more unpleasant, though possible, outcomes. There was a chance that Commander Kiske was already dead and if that were the case, then all their efforts to retrieve him would be wasted. There was also the likely scenario that he was just a prisoner, though what the Gears would do with a human, Reginald couldn't fathom but he didn't think it would be pleasant.

If, indeed, Commander Kiske was alive, then the problem posed was just as difficult, if not more so. Locating him would be one thing, getting him out was another matter entirely. He exhaled heavily, still studying the maps. If they were able to find out exactly where he was, the immediate Gears would need to be dealt with. Moreover, they would have many more of the creatures in their way until they reached Order-controlled territory again. If they could get in, if they could find him, if they could get back out…there were far too many 'if' scenarios for the Lieutenant's liking.

"Sir?" a small voice broke into his thoughts. It was far too young sounding to be either the Sergeant's or Arianne's. Reginald looked up quickly, turning towards the nameless Knight. "Maybe I can help?"

"This is Luke," Arianne stepped in as a questioning look washed over the Lieutenant's face. "He's from my unit." She placed a slender gloved hand on the boy's shoulder.

Luke looked young, almost as young as the Commander. He had a head of mousy brown curls and a freckled face. Like the others he wore the ubiquitous Order uniform, his trimmed in gray. He stood very still, calm.

"What can he do?"

"I can see magic traces," the boy answered. It was then that Reginald noticed Luke's eyes. They were gray, almost the same shade as the trim on his uniform. Initially, he thought they were just a hue of hazel, but at closer inspection, he saw that the boy's gray eyes were clouded over. He also noticed the lad hardly blinked and appeared as if he was staring into blank space. Luke was blind.

The Medical Division leader furrowed his brows intensely. "Explain."

"Everything, people, animals, even Gears have a kind of signature, like an aura, but not something so condensed. Each signature is unique and there are always remnants left behind if the origin has moved. I can see these traces, so I may be able to trail Commander Kiske's 'scent' so to speak."

Reginald contemplated the boy's word a bit before answering. "Is that so…" He firmed his lips again. "Well, I guess it's better than nothing. Greeves, please take Luke to the battlefield and see what he can pick up." The tall blond nodded his head and placed a hand on Luke's shoulder, leading him out. Arianne waited until the two were out of earshot before speaking.

"You're worried," she stated. All Reginald could do was nod solemnly. She headed over to a small cart next to the large table; one of the Commander's tea sets was set upon it. "This certainly is a surprise," she muttered as she lifted the porcelain lid, finding it empty. A pitcher of water sat on a self under the tea set and she began to fill the pot.

Reginald collapsed into the chair beside the table. He removed he glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "None of us expected anything like this. It was almost like the Gears had planned this…the way they came in and attacked, was…a bit unnatural." Arianne handed him a steaming cup of chamomile tea and he sipped the hot liquid gingerly. The Water Witch, as she was known, poured herself a cup and sat opposite him on the other side of the table.

"What do you mean by 'unnatural'?"

"I'm not sure…it just felt odd." He glanced down at the maps. "Typically, they've been attacking to gain territory. Most of their targets lately have been towns and cities, not Order bases." He paused to take another sip. "Plus, there was a Mega Death Gear with the group but hardly anyone saw it. Apparently, it attacked, picked up the Commander and two others then vanished amidst the chaos."

Arianne set her cup down gently on its saucer. "That is peculiar…" She tapped the rim lightly. "You're wondering if Ky will be recovered." The Lieutenant didn't answer, nor did he look up to meet her gaze. Arianne curled a delicate hand under her jaw. The moment Ky Kiske left, Reginald Launchette, being the next highest-ranking officer in the camp, had assumed the position of de facto Commander. But now that Arianne was here, the title could be passed to her if she decided to stay. "Has Master Kliff been informed?"

"Messages were sent this evening."

"But he's with the main forces in Luxembourg."

"Which means he won't know yet."

"…I see…"

Silence permeated in the abode, making both of them uncomfortable. They were in a tight spot. With forces being thin, they couldn't spare the necessary men to search and still be able to defend themselves, but they couldn't just wait either. Waiting hadn't given them any solutions. Still, it didn't seem like they had much of a choice at the moment.

There was a scuffle of boots and then the tent flap was peeled back. Luke and Greeves stepped in, the latter noting the fresh tea and began pouring himself a cup.

"What did you find?" Arianne asked the question Reginald could not.

"There was a lot," Luke began, "A lot of traces. Gears and humans…but something odd."

"Something odd?" quipped the bespectacled man.

"Your Commander's trace just ended suddenly. I was able to follow it across the field to where he engaged a large, no a humongous Gear. Then it was just gone. The Gear's trace was difficult to follow. It moved about the field, stopping a few times before turning back and heading into the woods. After that, its trace became distorted and I couldn't follow it anymore."

There was a _chink_ as Reginald set his cup down rather firmly, mumbling a curse under his breath.

"So we're no better off than before," Greeves interjected.

"There was something more," Luke spoke up. "There was a fresh trace, another powerful being. I think it was human. It headed off in the same direction as the Gear."

"You think it was human?" The Lieutenant asked very carefully. There was one person he could think of that would fit a description like that. The boy nodded.

"God save us," Greeves said with a grimace as he downed the last of his tea.

* * *


	8. Part 08

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 08

* * *

Hot, black ichor spurted skywards as Sol cleaved through another Gear. The dark specks had splattered his uniform and dotted his face; it dripped from his sword like water, there was so much. He turned, facing two more lizard-like Gears that cowered behind him, and blazed through then, temporarily lighting up the night with his fire. Their numbers were thinning, Sol had already lost count of how many he had slain.

When at last their screams did die, the world became deathly silent. The American took several minutes to relax his tense muscles and recollect himself. Sol felt a throbbing in his head but shook it off. Close to seventy, if not more, mutilated Gear corpses littered the ground around him, their unnatural blood-like substance creating shimmering black pools everywhere. Mismatched eyes scanned the vicinity but there were no signs of the large Mega Death class Gear about. Sol didn't even sense the creature's presence anywhere.

Several strides away lay the elemental sword he spied earlier; its blade a stark white in contrast to the indigo night. There was a mild resonance as Sol picked it up. Fuuraiken sparked briefly with a hard bite but the rogue Knight's grip did not falter. He turned it over in his hands looking it over. The weapon was hardly suited for someone like him; it looked much better paired with a particular young French Knight. Satisfied nothing was amiss, the brunet headed for the isolated building where he had felt the human presences but now noted the signal wasn't as strong as before.

It was a squat little building, hardly bigger than a shack, and it looked to be crudely constructed whereas the other structures were man-made. Heavy steel pipes had been twisted into an interlocking myriad of angles resembling a grid. This grid of cold steel was rammed into the ground at the building's opening. Peering inside, Sol could see four other grid-like gates, two on each side of the interior. This building was a holding cell. He gripped the outside gate and gave it a tug; it barely budged. Which meant two things, the American surmised. The first was that only the stronger, colossal Gears would be able to move it and the second was that whatever was inside wouldn't be able to get out either.

Which meant anything inside was essentially trapped; left to deteriorate until the Gears dealt with them. He could only imagine the terror the Gears would unleash on the weakened humans they captured.

Setting his blades aside, Sol gripped the metal gate again and heaved. It moved, though only slightly. He heaved again and it moved again. This process repeated several more times until he had a good-sized gap. The strain of moving such a heavy object was making his head throb again with the increased blood flow. Snaking an arm through the opening and gripping the gate from the inside as well as the outside, Sol summoned as much energy as he had left and this time pulled as hard as he could. There was a loud _ka-thunk_ as it landed in the dirt next to him.

Stepping inside the dim abode he looked to the cell on his right. It was larger than he thought—four paces wide and another four paces long, but horribly dark; he could barely make out the corners in the shadows. This cell however was empty. He turned to the one on his left and immediately saw what appeared to be a very light gray mass near the center of the room. Another shadowed outline was lying horizontally along the right side. Neither of the figures moved.

The gates on the inner cells were thinner and moved surprisingly with more ease. They were jammed into the floor and wall, but came free with little effort so it was likely this structure had been in use for some time. He paused for a moment, studying the figure in the center of the room. He could barely pick up a sense from it; the other body was completely silent. The clouds parted and fresh moonlight streamed in from the ill-constructed roof and holes in the walls. Sol advanced towards Ky and lifted the blond's head.

The boy's eyes were vacant and dilated with fear. They twitched before focusing on him. "…Sol," the young Commander said breathlessly before crushing into the taller man's chest with a force that nearly knocked the brunet off his feet. Slender arms gripped him snuggly as hands clenched tightly at his uniform. "Sol…" his voice carried a slight tremor. Ky drew a hitching breath before tensing, his shoulders shaking. Without thinking, the American wrapped his arms around the boy's small frame, holding him close. He could feel the blond's heart thundering.

Initially, Sol had been surprised by the boy's sudden actions, but as he glanced about the small cell, he could understand why. The cell-like room reeked of mildew, blood and fresh vomit. He glanced over at Jameson's body, laid out perfectly still with an unusually large puddle of blood beneath it. He saw the glint of the dagger blade and knew immediately that the man had purposely bled out, leaving Ky alone. Alone with a horde of Gears in the middle of nowhere—no wonder the boy was panicking.

Ky had begun to breathe raggedly again and gripped Sol so tight, the older man thought the kid would shred his uniform. The American eased him down, since the French boy was already in a half-sprawling position, still holding him. Ky loosened his grip long enough to reposition himself and place his arms around the older man's neck, burying his head there. He was still shaking; Sol could feel his hot breath through the fabric of his shirt as the blond pressed against his body. Lowering his own head, Sol murmured calming words into his ear and placed a tender kiss on the boy's jaw.

Slowly, Ky began to quell his panic. His breaths became more regular and his heart stopped beating so ferociously. The tears that had been welling up finally fell, though in silence; the coarse fabric of the older man's clothing roughing his cheek. A firm hand came to rest on his head, stroking dirty blond locks. Ky clung there, listening to the soft, rumbling bass of the other's voice as he cried. He wept until he was exhausted and his head hurt. When the tears finally stopped, the French boy closed his eyes and just inhaled the brunet's unique scent, breathing slowly until he drifted away.

Still, he never let go of Sol.

* * *


	9. Part 09

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 09

* * *

Birds warbled in chorus as the world began to wake up; the dark night breaking way to gray skies, iridescent gold streaking through. The air was slightly chill, still moist with midnight dew but was quickly warming with the gaining light. Heavy footfalls crunched softly in steady, even strides.

Ky was comfortably warm and didn't want to wake up. But he felt rested and his internal clock was telling him it was time to rise. Shifting a bit, blue-green eyes opened wearily, eyelids heavy while the world came into focus. There was a brief moment of bewilderment as to why he was being carried, but then the previous night's events came rushing back violently and making Ky wish he was still in a dreamless slumber.

The steady sway of moment suddenly stopped and Ky looked up into a pair of mismatched eyes peering down on him. Was his left eye always such a deep gold, he wondered as he studied the older man's features. There was a latent desire to run fingers across the American's jaw, to feel the rough stubble and defined lines with his fingertips.

"Can you walk?" the other's voice cut thru the blond's thoughts and bringing reality to the front again.

"…_Oui_," Ky responded after a moment's daze. Sol set him down, far more carefully than the young Knight would have expected, and then set off again. His shoulders felt stiff and he worked them as they continued. They were on a gravel path, ill-used and full of green patches of grass. Tall weeds framed either side of the twisting trail with woods beyond. While the path itself was hardly more than a few feet across, the entire expanse from tree line to tree line was at least double that. The sun was directly in front, and within an hour would be glaring right at them. Ky swallowed hard; his throat was still dry.

"Where are we going?" he asked, catching up with the American. Sol didn't answer. He just kept walking, head lowered and hands hooked in his pockets. Frustrated, Ky wanted to snap at Sol, but that would be a waste of his energy so he turned his attention back to the roadside. Aside from the handful of birdcalls, Ky didn't see any other signs of wildlife. The depths beyond the forest line bothered him as well. There was no telling what lurked in the long, deep shadows, and assuming they were still within Gear territory, that was a bad thing. In Ky's mind, getting ambushed along the path was very likely, though Sol didn't show the least bit of concern towards this possibility. He knit his brows at the older man, staring at the long, ill-kempt ponytail.

Didn't it get in the way? Ky suddenly wondered. While there was no regulation regarding hairstyles within the Order, the majority chose to keep their hair short, but a slight few wore it long. Even so, Ky felt slightly hypocritical of his recent thought. The American's uniform carried numerous marks of carnage— blood and ichor splayed like some child's artwork. There were also numerous rips and tears. Ky didn't doubt he looked just as tattered and bedraggled. Absent-mindedly he raised a hand to graze his forehead. It didn't hurt, but he still felt the small ridge extending from brow to hairline.

Around midday, the forest panned out to open fields with numerous, oddly shaped mounds. It was then that Ky realized the footpath they were following was once a major roadway; though forgotten and reclaimed by nature. The mounds where the remains of buildings, long destroyed during the wars. Several of the concrete structures had trees and other vegetation growing right out of them. A real road could be seen; the asphalt cracked and heaved about, with some slabs rising high into the air in defiance. The town had long been uninhabited as most citizens moved to the better-fortified cities of Paris, Lyons, Avignon and other, more easterly, cities. Tours had fallen far earlier than anyone would have though and Orléans, having been a stronghold from the start, finally succumbed to an overwhelming Gear attack just a week ago. Order losses were high, Ky recalled biting his thumb. With the Gears continued push east, Paris was a peninsula off the human territory, a fact that worried the blond greatly. With enough effort, the Gears could cut off access and overtake the city.

What frustrated him more was the fact he couldn't do anything; he didn't even have a clue where he was. Ky especially didn't like the fact that his only ensured way out was to trust the one man he despised. The blond scowled at the taller man's broad back. He asked again for their destination and like before, received only silence. Which only made him glare harder at the American. For all Ky knew, the brunet didn't have a clue either though that seemed highly unlikely. The man seemed to know exactly where he was and where he was going. He never so much as looked around once to get his bearings. All his intense glaring, though, was only making his head hurt. Ky raised a gloved hand to block out the sun as he glanced at it's position, estimating the time to be sometime after noon.

For spring, it was unusually warm and the sun beating down on him only made him madder and his head hurt more. He was terribly thirsty, not to mention hungry and they had been walking for hours now. Ky glanced longingly at his shadow, wishing the path were even remotely shaded so he could have a brief respite from the heat. He licked his dry lips and called out to Sol again, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

It suddenly felt like he was floating…

* * *


	10. Part 10

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 10

* * *

_FWUMP! _

Sol paused mid-stride and turned about. The boy's slender body lay crumpled where it had dropped on the path. Exhaling an annoyed sigh, he closed the distance between them and picked up the other's limp form. Ky's skin felt extremely warm to the touch, Sol surmising he had passed out from being overheated. Cradling the blond in his arms, the older man stepped off the path into the shaded undergrowth and began to pick his way along the foliage.

It wasn't long before he came upon one of the many small streams that ran through the woods. Though they weren't far from when they had passed the remains of a town, Sol didn't trust going back. From the looks of it, the city had been under siege a long time ago and no effort had been made to reclaim it by either side. Which typically meant one thing—the dwelling's water supply had been contaminated, likely laced with poison. It was an early war tactic implanted on both sides—by the Order to inhibit the growth of the Gear's territory and by the Gears to force the humans out of their settlements. Even if the water in the city ruins was any good, Sol still didn't trust going back. Places like that were ideal habitats for lesser Gears and they were in no shape for a fight.

Placing the boy's body down against a wide tree, he took a closer look at the stream. The water was a diluted shade of murkiness but there was a slow moving current, which was a good sign. He then turned his attention back to the young Commander. If Ky indeed had collapsed from heat exhaustion, then he needed to be cooled down, and quickly. Without wasting another moment, the older man began stripping the blond of his Order uniform. Tearing off some of the more shredded strips from the hem of his own uniform, he dipped them into the cool water. Sol didn't bother to wring the sopping material much; he just started wiping down the boy's arms and chest. Mismatched eyes watched the steady, but shallow rise and fall of breaths. As the American continued to wipe him with the makeshift rag, Ky's color was coming back, and he no longer felt warm. Sol couldn't help but notice the boy's slender build; he was far thinner than the other had imagined. Which just meant Ky's strength was more wiry than bulk, he noted, watching the trails of water run down the French boy's skin, defining lean muscles and collecting in streams across his narrow chest and abdomen.

For a moment, Sol found it hard to look away.

Then he set his mouth in a firm line and wetted the material again. Like him, the blond had seen cleaner days. There was an abrasion under Ky's left cheekbone and the long ridge-resembling gash on his forehead was mostly just dried mud. Sol took a moment to clean it away before rewetting the strips. He folded the damp material and placed it on the boy's brow before plopping down next to him, sliding down the tree's wide trunk into a relaxed slouch.

The canopy of leaves and tree branches above them would provide ample shade as well as cover from any of the Gears with flying abilities. Of course this also meant that any Order airships would also miss them, but the Order's aerial force was small. The few airships they had were mainly used as transports for troops and delivering supplies. The number of airships fitted for battle was even fewer. Besides, even if the aerial patrol were looking for them, they wouldn't know where to look so it was even more unlikely that airships would be in the right location.

Rather, Sol thought definitively as he folded his hands over his stomach, it was just like what the boy had been panicking over. No one knew where he had been taken to so no one knew where to look. And if they didn't know where to search, then they wouldn't go looking. In fact, he could almost imagine that irritating Lieutenant of the Medical Unit doing what he could; but Reginald would be grasping at straws. The man missed his opportunity. No, instead, it was all up to Sol to get the Order's precious prodigy back alive. He had half a mind to just leave as it was; the kid had given him enough trouble getting caught and all…

Sol heaved a yawn. He was weary; very weary. The exhaustion that had built up over the past day and a half was finally catching up to him. Fighting the Gears at camp was child's play for him; it was the long chase that ensued afterwards that had drained him the most. By his judgments, they had covered at least fifty miles from the Order camp to the Gear outpost. Returning by foot at their current pace would take some time. There was always the thought of speeding up but Sol highly doubted the boy would be able to keep up, let alone had to ability to perform such a feat. Yawning again, the older man listened to the gentle babbling of the stream and the boy's soft breaths. As far as he was concerned, there was no immediate threat in the area so he relaxed and surrender himself over to sleep.

* * *


	11. Part 11

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 11

* * *

"Anything?" Reginald asked the scout before him, his voice betraying his mood. He was frantic. It had been almost two full days since the startling Gear ambush and they were no better off then before. All of the eyewitnesses they had been able to dig up reported similar scenarios—they had seen Commander Kiske enter the fight but lost sight of him during the fray. No one had seen him after the battle and all the wounded and deceased had been double-check as a precaution.

"Neither the 122nd or 207th divisions to the north have seen anything. We're still waiting for word from the units to the south," the scout reported. The Lieutenant waved his away and the young man disappeared.

_If he isn't among the wounded or dead, and hasn't been in contact with the other divisions, then… _The bespectacled man furrowed his brow intently. _This is the only sure fact. He's missing and we have no way of knowing if he's alive or dead. _Speculation was getting them nowhere.

There was still another factor to consider, though one Reginald wasn't fond of dwelling on. Ever since Luke's report the night prior of 'a powerful being, heading in the same direction' he had been suspicious. Sol Badguy was not one to keep company. More oft than not, the only time anyone would see the man was during battles. Reginald had seen, and spoken to him, briefly two evenings ago. And then it was as if the American had disappeared into the night air. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Luke's other comment of, "I think it was human," also had him greatly concerned. It was no secret that Sol's abilities were in a class of their own. Reginald highly suspected that what the man displayed on the battlefield was only a fraction of his true skill. His style was sporadic, unpredictable almost. Random. He had been witness to a few of the bouts the Commander had with the unruly subordinate, and each time, was amazed.

Whether or not Sol's own, peculiar absence had anything to do with the current situation was also up in the air. If he had gone after Ky…Reginald didn't know whether to be relieved or upset. Sol Badguy's loyalty to the Order was highly questionable. He seemed to spend a great deal of time just being stagnant; observing everyone and everything. For the most part, the other Knights avoided Sol and what orders he did receive, he usually ignored. Based on this, it seemed highly unlikely that the same person would dash away on a rescue mission. The Lieutenant turned his cup on its saucer and brought it to his lips. The crisp, minty flavor was refreshing.

A snide side of him pondered the idea that Sol had left, not to save Ky Kiske, but rather to make sure the Commander never returned. That boy was reputed to be his greatest irritation, and vise versa. Not to mention that Ky's sudden disappearance was the perfect opportunity to carry out such a deed; there had been ample time.

Still, Reginald thought, staring at the tea flakes that had gathered in the cup's recess, he doubted it. For all the hatred between them, he didn't believe that Sol would actually want to kill the young lad. He swirled the liquid a bit.

_So._ He mused definitively. _The Commander is missing and so is Mr. Badguy. We don't know if Ky is alive or dead and we can assume Sol went after him. _Reginald frowned at his cup. There was a brief _fwap_ as the tent flap was drawn abruptly back. The head of the Scouting and Information division—Sergeant Greeves— suddenly stood before him.

"We've just received word from the southern troops," Greeves began immediately. "The haven't seen any sign of the Commander, but they did have some interesting information."

Reginald held his breath.

"Regarding the surprise attacks on Order bases, this hasn't been the first time. The 109th brigade has been looking into this; they experienced a similar ambush a few months ago. As it turns out, several other divisions have been attacked, all of them without warning, but with each one, a few Knights went missing." He paused at the other's stunned look. Greeves continued. "Unfortunately, those who went missing were never recovered. However, it is believed that they were intentionally taken."

"Intentionally?"

"Singled-out, but as to why, it hasn't been determined yet. Knights of all skill and rank have been abducted. I can provide you with information complied by the 109th if you wish to look it over."

Reginald gave a brief nod of his head. "Do we know where they've been taken?"

"No," Greeves responded flatly. The Lieutenant felt himself sink a little bit in his chair.

"Alright…" His vision darted, trying to latch onto something or some idea. "Let me see that report. We might be able to derive _something_ useful from it."

* * *


	12. Part 12

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 12

* * *

His heart was pounding; it felt like it was trying to burst forth from his chest. He was light-headed, dizzy with feeling. There was a stirring just below his gut and between his legs, not to mention an increase in temperature. He was growing hot down there, and fast. It was a new sensation for him, but he didn't want it to end. Warm breath moistened his skin as it trailed over his body, pausing once or twice to gently touch a spot that would trigger a gasping moan. Slim fingers sought that wild long hair; the fine strands falling through his hands like liquid. He grasped it, and embraced the other closely.

Rough hands, with callused palms, held him tight. Words were murmured, but he couldn't tell what they were; he just concentrated on the low purring sound in the other's voice. He liked the way it rumbled deep in the other's chest; its husky tone was enough to make his head swim. The hands began to move, sliding over slick skin; one heading lower, down his belly. A hot, wet kiss was placed on his chest as he was gripped. Blue-green eyes finally opened to gaze down his partner. Deep, liquid eyes, one red the other gold, stared back intensely before Ky broke away with a shuddering moan. The pace had picked up; he could feel the stirring below his gut build.

More kisses were dabbled across his chest, moving up his neck. His thoughts were fleeting; he was so drunk with passion. Feeling good was the only thing that mattered; he concentrated on that building warmth between his thighs and the pulsing thump of being stroked incredibly hard. Another kiss was placed along his neck, but it stayed there, sucking passionately. The pressure was still climbing, and he wanted to urge the other to go faster; his hips rocking with motion. He was close; he craved feeling that wave of pleasure, the rush of release.

Then there was pain; sharp pain that drove like spikes into his neck, immediately shaking him from his lust-filled stupor. He was being bitten, and hard. He could feel the fresh liquid dribble down his throat and across his chest; it felt chill against his heated flesh. Ky opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. He struggled against the other, trying to tear him off, but he felt weak. The other was too heavy, too strong, and it felt like all his strength was being sucked out with his blood. Slowly, he drifted; floating as if weightless; tottering from side to side as if caught on a breeze. He was light-headed again and the world was begining to fade away.

Ky woke with a start, heart beating hard. He took a deep breath; the air smelled damp. Sounds began to come in, their volume increasing the more he woke up. His hand reached up to graze his neck; there was no blood, no bite. _It felt so real though... _His mind drifted to the sensation of fingers and lips savoring his skin. _To be touched like that..._The thought made him shiver and tense. Calming himself, Ky began to look around. The first thing the blond noticed was that he was in the woods near a tiny brook. It was late, the last of the sun's streaming orange rays were streaking through the tree trunks. The temperature was maybe a few degree cooler, but still fairly warm.

It was then, Ky noticed, that he was shirtless. Shock initially tore at him, until he located his discarded articles of clothing nearby. He reached for them when something else caught his eye. Fuuraiken lay amid the forest floor, as if unwontedly discarded. She looked dull, as if her spark had been stolen. Ky grabbed his shirt and shoulder cape, still eyeing his sword.

He didn't really know much about his weapon. Master Kliff, current head of the Order, bestowed it upon him not long ago, just before he was given his first command. He was told it was a special weapon, crafted specifically for combating Gears, a fact backed by the many fights he had endured. Fuuraiken was a mysterious object, that much Ky knew. It was no ordinary sword. He picked it up and ran his hand along the length of the blade, noting the faint tremor of magic within. Always, Fuuraiken felt charged, alive; but now... Ky made a slice thru the air. There was a very small cackling spark that sprung from the guard. Something was definitely amiss.

What was even stranger was the fact that he was alone. Ky circled the area, but saw no sign of Sol Badguy. He squinted into the darkness that was slowly creeping in, but still did not spot anything. He was alone again.

He didn't know whether to be upset or frightened.

The blond didn't like the notion of being by himself again; he was still uneasy. If Gears were to attack again, the odds were not in his favor. He swallowed hard, gripping Fuuraiken tighter. For Sol to just leave him here…it made his ears burn. While it was true they didn't like each other, Ky couldn't help but depend on him. Especially now. The American was the only one who had trailed the Gears and found him. He could have left him in the cell but didn't. That had to mean something. And he was making efforts to lead them back, but to exactly where, Ky couldn't be certain. Initially, he had assumed they would head back to their camp, but the heading was off, or so he thought. They were heading east for the most part, presumably back into Order territory, but after almost two days of traveling, there was nothing that looked familiar.

Which raised the question of exactly how far out were they. Ky had assumed that the attack and when he woken up were the same day, but what if they weren't? Gears could travel long distances very quickly, so it was probable that there was a great deal of distance between the Gear dwelling and the Order camps. That would at least explain the long traveling period.

A low wind began to blow as the last of the sun's rays shrunk from sight. It was much darker under the canopy of branches than it would be out in a field. Again, the French Knight scanned the premises. While it didn't make much sense for the other to save him and bring him back only to abandon him, Ky didn't put it out of his mind. He wanted to believe that Sol was that type of person. He was, had always been, selfish, so why should Ky expect any less? This thought caused a sinking feeling within his chest. It made his heart feel heavy. Plopping down, the Commander set his sword aside and waited to see if the other would return.

* * *


	13. Part 13

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 13

* * *

There was a rustle, just barely audible. It might have been the night breeze, but Ky tensed anyways. It was well into the evening hours and still he sat beneath the tree by the brook. The woods had come alive during the twilight hours, all kinds of eerie sounds were emanating from the darkness. And each and every time, the young boy jumped, rigid with anticipation. He thought about building a fire, but he didn't want to draw unwanted attention to himself. He was sure Gears were still in the area and the last thing he wanted was to face one at the moment.

The brush rustled again and Ky's heart skipped a beat. Nervous fingers sought a weapon, clutching Fuuraiken's hilt tightly. For a moment, it sounded as if the entire wood had hushed. He swallowed hard; almost choking, his heart was pounding so strongly. Quickly, the French Knight rose to his feet, holding his sword defensively in front of him. Whatever was out there, Ky would have to take it on.

Blue-green eyes scanned the darkness again and caught a shadow moving. A shiver raced down his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The silhouette drew nearer, taking a clearer form. It rounded a cluster of closely knit trees and then disappeared. Ky's breaths were heavy and he made no effort to conceal them.

There was the sound of something being dropped behind him; the young Commander spun about, slashing through the air. There was a loud _chink!_ Startled, Ky released a blast of lightning, illuminating the darkness. Sol's intense glare met his as the older man drew his blade away. The flash dissipated, throwing them into shadows once again. Ky immediately collapsed against the tree.

"Don't scare me like that," he chided, fumbling with the zipper on his shirt. He felt warm again from the built up tension. At his feet was the thing Sol dropped—a pair of hares. Ky calmed his breath as he fiddled with the gold cross around his neck.

There was a small flare as a fire sprung to life, Sol carefully feeding it until it grew large enough. He threw a decent sized log on the flames and shoved two spruce poles into the embers before setting about to skin the hares. By the time he had them properly field cleaned, the fire was ready and he withdrew the spruce poles, inserting them through each of the small game and angling them over the blaze.

"What about the Gears?" Ky suddenly spoke. "Won't the fire draw them?"

"There are no Gears," Sol replied shortly, watching the orange-red flares lick the raw meat.

"You sound so sure…" He let his mind drift as he ran a finger down the thin chain. While he was mostly relieved, the thought still bothered him. How would Sol know if there were any Gears about? Unless he had scouted the area beforehand while he was hunting. Yes, that made sense, Ky presumed, wrapping fingers around his crucifix. He brought it to his lips and lightly touched it.

He didn't say anything more and neither did Sol. The older man periodically reached out to turn the hares so they would cook more evenly, but other than that; he remained still; staring fixedly at the fire as he lay next to it. When enough time had passed, Sol removed one of the hares. He gave it a sniff before biting in.

"How is it?" Ky inquired, not even bothering to hide the curiosity in his voice. He was terribly hungry after all. Sol handed him the hare and grabbed the other one, still chewing. He swallowed and immediately began tearing into the newly cooked meat. Ky looked at his; it's flesh a deep brown color, almost black, with a spot of faintly pink-colored meat from where Sol had bitten it. It smelled delicious to his hungry stomach and Ky didn't waste a morsel.

* * *


	14. Part 14

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 14

* * *

There was a soft _chink_ as Maria set down the teacup and saucer. She folded her hands over the small patter and sighed. Without so much as glancing in her direction, Reginald reached out, took up the cup and gently sipped the lightly flavored liquid. Licking his lips, he set it back down and flipped to another page of the report he was reading.

Maria gently cleared her throat. She waited a moment before speaking.

"_Signore_," the brunette said softly. The Lieutenant finally looked up from his papers. "You should rest; you've been at this for days now. _Per favore_."

"I know..." he replied solemnly, removing his glasses. It felt good to rest his eyes. "But I need answers. Every minute we waste…" he trailed off growing quieter. The Italian woman beamed a quaint smile as she retrieved a blanket from a chair on the other side of the table. She had just set it about the Lieutenant's shoulders when he shifted, fully alert again.

"Really, I appreciate your concerns," his tone was flat; there was no warmth to it. Reginald took a long sip from his cup, and then turned back to the papers in his hand. Disheartened, Maria took this as a dismissal and quietly excused herself.

Minutes grew as he read line after line of information. The 109th had been thorough in their collection of data, and he scrutinized it. There were no pattern to the attacks; they all occurred sporadically. Time, location, size of the ambush, size of the Order base—nothing was similar for any two occurrences. Even the Knights that had gone missing had nothing in common. Only a few figures were solid—a total of fourteen, now seventeen though, Knights had vanished over the past two years. That was as far back as the 109th's record traced, but Reginald was sure if he made inquires at the main branch, he could obtain other accounts. Of the fourteen that had disappeared, none of them had returned and, the Lieutenant prayed he wouldn't have to add any more names to that list.

Downing the last of his tea, he grabbed a fresh piece of paper and a writing utensil. Flipping through the reports again he began penning all the names, ranks and classes of the missing Knights. Reginald had a hunch there was something in common with all of them, beyond what their initial personal reports told. When he had finished all seventeen, there were six females and eleven males. The highest ranking was Commander Kiske, the others varied from Recruits to Ensigns to even a Lieutenant Commander, though the majority was not within officer ranking. There was a slightly higher number of Spell Casters than regular Soldiers, the Medical Division Leader noted with a quirk of his eyebrow. Inborn Magic abilities were not abundant, just uncommon. The majority of the world's populace possessed no skill whatsoever to control an Element, but with diligent training, could obtain to. Still, there were rare cases, where a person's inherent magic pool could be quite large, giving them immense potential. Ky Kiske was one such case.

He paused in his scribbling mid-word, his mind fixated. Reaching to another stack of papers he dug out the personal reports on Brendan Jameson and Hubert Kollwitz. The latter was a skilled fire caster; there were few who could out-manipulate his use of flame. Jameson on the other hand was primarily a swordsman, but the man did possess a latent talent for magic. Sadly though, any true aptitude never surfaced and aside from a small handful of freak accidents, the swordsman never gained any control over his magical capabilities. Reginald was perplexed; there was evidence in the reports to both support the idea he had and also to contradict it.

_Unless_...he mused, _they're doing it on purpose. To mislead us_... Brushing the papers aside he flipped through the maps that were still sprawled across the table. Fingers soon found the one he was looking for. France lay before him with all the careful notations the Commander had been making. Turning to the reports again, Reginald made a few more marks before throwing his pen down in frustration.

It just didn't make any sense.

* * *


	15. Part 15

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 15

* * *

Sol paused again in his paces. The uneasy steps continued to shuffle behind him before he felt a weight collide with him. Ky made a discouraged sound before drawing back.

"Why did you stop?" that nasally tenor demanded.

Sol watched as the Commander raised a hand to rub his nose. "Was waiting fer you…" He shifted his weight to his other leg, watching as the boy's face grew taunt and drawn.

"You don't have to, you know." Ky scowled. The older man smirked; knowing the blond thought he couldn't see him and the faces he made. Well that may have been true for him, but Sol could find his way along without much trouble. Had there been no overcast, the light of the full moon would have illuminated the night for the younger Knight. Crimson eyes drifted to the sky; the clouds were moving at a steady pace.

"Why are we traveling like this anyway?" Ky continued. "We can't see anything and Gears—" Sol abruptly cut him off by placing his hand over the other's mouth. He had heard something; a faint _kii-reeeen_-ing like sound. It made his blood quicken.

"What is that?" the French Knight asked, voice low. Sol could hear the fear laced in his tone; he felt a hand clutch the front of his uniform tightly. He knew what was out there and Ky knew it too; the boy just didn't want to admit it. Memories from before were probably still fresh within him, and another confrontation would just send the blond back into a relapse. Not like they had much of a choice, he observed, squinting at the horizon.

A deep rumble began in his chest, rising into a crescendo as feral eyes glared into the darkness. Slender hands released their intense grip on his clothes as Ky drew back. Bracing his stance, Sol began to feel the magic energy around him swirl as he summoned it. The force in the distance felt strong and he didn't feel—rather, couldn't count on Ky this time. With every battle the Commander would give his all, fighting his best until he was spent or the enemy completely destroyed. Often he would spur into a fray to help another without a thought to his own safety. Which was why Sol was always there; the kid would've gotten himself killed otherwise. Ky Kiske was magnificent in battle; his swordsmanship could be called both elegant and deadly and he was a well-accomplished fighter.

Now though, Sol wasn't sure if Ky would be able to keep it together.

He listened to the other's hitching breath as he spoke. "It's Gears, isn't it?" The American didn't respond, he just gave the boy a long, solemn stare; Ky was asking a question he already had an answer to. Turning back to the hills on the horizon, the brunet began to estimate the size of the horde approaching them; it felt like thirty. Out of the corner of his eye, Sol watched as the blond pulled himself together and adopt his readying stance. A prayer came to Sol, carried by a faint breath of wind.

_"Le père merveilleux, me guident  
Nous maintiennent coffre-fort et dans votre soin  
De sorte que nous puissions effectuer votre volonté_

_Laissez-moi être un pilier pour pour le fatigué  
Laissez-moi être une balise pour le perdu  
Laissez mon épée protéger le faible_

_Fournissez le salut au pécheur  
Et droiture pour le mal  
Votre pitié supporte pour toujours..."_

The rogue Knight had to smirk at that. The boy's blind faith was mostly irritating, even if understandable. But there was also something indescribably enticing about the boy's innocence too; it got under his skin and gnawed at him. The thought of breaking something so pure was... was invigorating; it sent a tremor thru the older man. Sol growled lowly again. He felt a slight buffering as the Commander raised his magic defenses. A fire began to burn in him, hungry for the first blood of battle.

Mismatched eyes turned to the hills before them, gleaming, as a drove of Gears came rushing down. The voice in his head beckoning him to let loose, to be consumed by the primal urges for blood he was feeling. Mostly he would be able to ignore the voice and the urges, but now they felt very strong and enticing. That illicit whisper feeding the embers of his desire to fight unchained… The American felt a powerful throbbing in his head as he charged the necessary magic to rush in. They were getting close...he tensed, waiting to spring.

In a blaze of flames, Sol heeded the call.

* * *


	16. Part 16

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 16

* * *

"It's Gears, isn't it?" He fought to keep his voice from trembling. Sol answered him with a cold stare. Weak moonlight refracted off a golden orb that seemed to stare into his very soul before the American turned his attention back to the horizon. Blue-green eyes widened as a surge of shadows began to spill into the field from beyond the hills.

Ky felt his stomach clench at the sight of Gears drawing ever closer. He was stiff and couldn't tear his eyes from the malicious orange-red marks that glowed in the night. Normally, the sight of Gears would get his adrenaline going, but all that was running through his mind now was the sharp pain of being struck and the despair that had overwhelmed him in the cell.

_They're gonna kill me, they're gonna kill me,_ the thought raced through his head over and over again. He felt his heart hasten and breath grow short; even the nightly sounds were drowned out. Had he his wits about him, Ky would have been able to brush it aside and charge into battle, but the blond was too disoriented for clear-headed thinking at the moment. The hulking forms drew nearer, there was several types of ground-based Gears; he didn't know if there were aerial types in the sky or not, the night was still dark with overcast.

Memory finally kicked in and he drew into his readying stance, Fuuraiken poised above him. Ky took several deep breaths, calming his nerves; he pressed a hand to his chest, fingers outlining the cross impression beneath the layers of material.

_"Heavenly Father, guide me  
Keep us safe and in your care  
So that we may carry out your will_

_Let me be a pillar for the weary  
Let me be a beacon for the lost  
Let my sword protect the weak_

_Deliver salvation to the sinful  
And righteousness to the wicked  
Your mercy endures forever..."_

Suddenly he felt a surge of energy; a force so strong it almost knocked him off his feet. It snapped his attention back to the forefront. The power was immense; it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, but was slightly familiar to his senses. There was a deep, rumbling growl from his left; Ky turned to face Sol.

The other man was almost unreal in his posture and ability. The American was crouched low to the ground, tense as if at the end of a chain. The amount of magic surrounding the brunet was enough to see visibly—sparse, curling waves wafted about his form, causing his long ponytail to flash angrily. Another throaty growl emerged before the rogue Knight blazed off in a stream of fire. Against the indigo night Sol Badguy was a blur caught only in brief flashes of flame and steel. Ky barely had a moment to watch before the Gears were upon them.

He felt a sickening twist in his gut as he narrowly avoided two that dove for him. Regaining his focus the young Commander lashed out with a wide slash; he couldn't see very well in the darkness, but he felt it connect with something, and the shrieks that followed confirmed it. He withdrew and swung again, but only heard the air whistling across his blade. Again he slashed, and again the air whistled.

_How am I supposed to fight something I can't see!?_ His mind screamed at him as he continued to keep the area around himself clear with broad, spinning cuts. Something hit him and there was pain on his arm, no doubt a fresh gash. Heartbeats were thundering in his chest; he couldn't hear anything beyond the rush of blood in his head. Feeling the air next to him move, Ky lashed out wildly, his blade whizzing as it cut through empty space. He rounded, still slashing when another burst of fiery inferno lit up the sky.

And he immediately lost all breath.

Towering a short distance away was a humongous, hulking form. Firelight gleamed off the creature's two twisting black horns as sinister yellow eyes roamed the creatures at its feet. The MegaDeath Gear exhaled a steaming puff of air before swelling its chest and bellowing a trembling cry, as if issuing a challenge. It dug its claws deep into dampened earth before trumpeting again. A flaming white-red blur suddenly attached itself to the Gear's head, attacking wildly, Ky staring in uncertainty.

A trio of pygmy sized Gears suddenly collided into him, knocking the blond to the ground. They shrieked as their tiny claws dug into flesh and through clothing. Struggling, he managed to kick one in the head and another he grabbed, tearing it off of him. The third, at losing its companions, disengaged, scurrying back into milky darkness. Gripping Fuuraiken tightly, Ky expelled a charge, illuminating his sword. He felt something wet across his cheek; the smell of ichor was thick in the air. By Fuuraiken's light, he could see his enemies and immediately began hacking into the ones nearest him. Thunder began to roll ominously in the background.

"I did not come out here to die!" The French Knight barked through gritted teeth. He dropped into a low kick and followed it with a Stun Edge. When his opponent had fallen, the blond felt a surge of magic and called upon it. A flash a blue—a single lightning bolt—came crashing down, hitting the down Gears squarely. The number of Gears surrounding him was beginning to thin. He jabbed out in a streak of light, piercing a brown-black hide through the center. As he ripped his sword out, the Gear collapsed in a burst of screams and ichor. Leaping now, Ky threw out a charge, which expanded into a hovering ball. Landing, he swept his sword upward, catching one of the vile creatures and threw it right into the glowing bauble. It shrieked as electricity licked its skin; Ky following it up with a shower of more air slashes.

Another small horde had collected and began charging for him. Throwing aside the pygmy sized Gear he had been pummeling, Ky charged his magics and headed straight for the four forms barreling at him, orbs of white lightning swirling around the blond. The Gears were stunned as they collided, Ky taking the advantage to drop into another low kick. He sliced; reaching far and low, knocking one of the rising beasts back down. To another he hit with an overhead strike; it bounced from the force.

Fire and Lightning continued to illuminate the sky as the two fought frantically. Occasionally, Ky would hear familiar shouts over the shrieks and rumble of the inferno Sol was unleashing, but he was too absorbed to register much else. He didn't even think about his attacks—it was as if he was reacting automatically to the assaults around him. The blond still couldn't see his enemies beyond the flashes of fire and light but he still seemed to know exactly where they were and where they were going to be. He felt a push of energy at his backside and spun, delivering a shocking cut into the chest of a rather knobby looking Gear. It fell with a dull thud; Ky breathing hard, released another charge through Fuuraiken, extending his field of vision. The Commander saw nothing but ichor-soaked grass and mutilated hides around him.

Then the ground shook violently, almost bringing him to his knees. Stabilizing himself with his blade, Ky shot around. A good distance away Sol fought with the MegaDeath Gear, a mane of fire falling down the behemoth's ridged back. It howled as it swung sharp claws through the darkness, missing the brunet but only nearly. Ky didn't notice he had been holding his breath until another tremor shook the ground. The rogue Knight battled on, leading the large Gear further away from the blond.

_What is he doing!? We can't get separated!! The fool!_

"SOL!!" Ky whipped around, catching sight of the older man as the American was flung from the MegaDeath's hide. The brunet righted himself mid-fall and sprung back as soon as his boots touched the grass. Ky wasted no time rushing over towards the larger Gear, finishing off what other creatures remained along the way.

Summoning his magics again, the Order Commander formed a giant spear-shaped blade and hurled it straight at the imposing Gear. His Sacred Edge stunned the beast long enough for Sol to connect his Tyrant Rave. The Gear howled; Sol leaping up and cleaving into its shoulder. Ky charged a Stun Edge, released it and then chased the ball of electric energy to its target, unleashing a frantic string of attacks. There was another loud bellow followed by a dull thud as the massive Gear fell to the ground. The flashes of fire were becoming more frequent; the air was humming dangerously with magic.

Collecting the last of his magic, Ky focused it into a single, powerful blast. His scream was drowned out by another, but his Rising Force still connected, following Sol's Savage Fang. When the roar of flames and the cackling of lightning finally faded away, it was deathly silent. The MegaDeath Gear was no longer stirring; the glowing mark upon its forehead had fallen dim.

A wave of dizziness washed over Ky; he felt his knees buckle and was suddenly looking up at the stars. He was hot and completely spent, senses dulled. All he could concentrate on was getting his breathing under control; that at least would make his head stop spinning. Amidst the tiny, flickering dots in the sky, he thought he saw something, like a shadow moving within a shadow. Squinting, the blond tried focusing, but it only made things blurry.

He was thirsty again, he noted, closing his eyes. It was incredible hard to fight the urge to just pass off into sleep right there, he was so exhausted. Opening his eyes again, Ky noticed the shadow among the stars again. It was bigger this time.

It was also looming in on them.

The Commander felt his pulse quicken. Could it be an Order airship? He hoped, following it's slow, looping descent. Blue-green eyes watched intently as it drew nearer, taking in the shape. It seemed rather small for an aircraft, he thought.

If blood could stop cold in the veins, Ky was sure he would have felt it then as he bolted upright. "SCOUTER!! _Au-dessus de!_" His nasally tenor shouted with all his might. There was a brilliant flash as a wall of flames shot up.

* * *


	17. Part 17

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 17

* * *

"Stop," the word came out abruptly, knocked out of his lungs by the force of colliding with the brunet's larger mass. Slender fingers clung tightly to the coarse fabric of the other's Order uniform. An invisible force pushed against him, but Ky just held tighter. More thunder bellowed and the air began to feel moist.

Sol's breath came in ragged heaves and he struggled against the blond. At his feet lay the carcass of a dead Gear, an aerial scout. At the battle's end, Ky had collapsed, exhausted per usual, but then sprang up, shouting a warning. Barely a moment later, the blond felt a monumental surge of energy as Sol tapped all his remaining magic stores and leapt up, hitting the Gear midair and sent it plummeting to the ground. The rogue Knight's fury only intensified after unleashing his Napalm Death attack; he was atop the aerial scout almost as soon as it hit the earth.

Ky's head was swimming with questions and speculations. How was Sol able to keep fighting? The way he fought just now was terrifying; he had used a lot of magic but was still able to keep going. Wasn't he exhausted at all? His own limbs were lead as he stumbled over to the older man. He watched as the brunet rammed his blade into the Gear's neck; a hand savagely gripping one of the creature's leathery wings and tearing it out with sickening force. Ky winced at the wet snapping of bone and muscle being ripped and broken. With his free hand, Sol moved to dismember another part of the already dead Gear and Ky suddenly felt himself stumbling; crushing into the taller man's chest.

"Stop," he voice shook, but he didn't care. Something was wrong with Sol, and it made Ky feel scared. Slumping to his knees, he clutched at the battle-worn uniform; the smell of blood and ichor thick in it, mixed with sweat and Sol's distincly male scent. Sharp fingers dug into him, seizing him so tight they were probably leaving bruises in the blond's flesh. "Please!" Ky added, no longer able to keep himself composed; he could feel tears burning down his cheeks, the saltiness stinging fresh cuts.

For a moment, Ky wondered if he was getting through to Sol but then the tense grip loosened and he looked up into the most bemused expression he had ever seen on the American. "It's all right, you've done enough…" he tried to smile, despite his fear, for reasons he didn't know. The left sleeve of Sol's Order uniform had been mostly torn away and the French Knight laid a hand there reassuringly; the other's tanned flesh was burning to his touch. Fingertips traced tense, twitching muscles. "_Il est tout bon, vous ont fait assez..._" he repeated, slipping into his native tongue.

Blue-greens eyes turned to mismatched ones again and were taken aback at the remorseful look there. Discarding the leathery black wing he had still been clutching, Sol lightly touched his fingers to the blond's wet cheeks. The boy was a mess of tears, blood and ichor; the sight of which caused a stirring within the taller man. It was ravishing to see his dutiful Commander looking so roughened. He brought the soiled fingertips to his face, tasting the mix of salty tears and metallic blood.

Ky opened his mouth to say something again, but stopped short when the other leaned in and he felt a warm, wet tongue lick his cheek. It made his heart suddenly jump and immediately quelled his tears. If his head had been swimming before, he was drowning now. Ky didn't know what to think; he inhaled a snagging breath before that deliciously manipulative tongue found his mouth; plunging deep into its recess. Everything from his waist down abruptly felt numb as an explosion of warmth erupted down there. Fingers found scarlet fabric and gripped it, attempting to shove the brunet off but the object in his mouth twisted, causing the blond to shiver with excitement. Instead of pushing the other way, he pulled Sol closer, closed his eyes and tilted his head. The rumbling of dark clouds seemed distant to his ears.

Sol pulled away; Ky felt a strong lurch in his stomach and the wind rushing through his hair, causing him to gasp. It almost felt like they were flying, or at the very least, moving at an incredible speed. He clutched the brunet's Order uniform tighter, pressing his cheek into the coarse fabric. And just as abruptly as the jolt began, it vanished and everything was quiet. Loosening his hold, the Commander peered about, noting the sudden change in scenery and lack of any Gears. _Where are we?_ He wondered, staring at the unfamiliar landscape. Ky hadn't noticed the other had withdrawn until he felt a weight on his shoulder. He glanced down; Sol rested his head against him, lightly grasping one of the blond's arms.

"Sol…" speaking barely above a whisper, the French Knight felt his face flush. He could feel the other's hot, heavy breath through his uniform as the American slowly raised his head; trailing light pecks along his neck and jaw. That warm swirling in the pit of his gut flared again and plummeted lower... Ky shuddered. Slender fingers fell through the air into wild brown locks, twisting around the fine strands. He felt the American press his hips into him as surprisingly gentle lips peppered his collarbone and worked the crock where his jaw and neck met. When had his shirt been loosened? Ky couldn't remember; his mind was all a haze as hands cupped a rugged face and brought it in again.

The world refracted in those ruby orbs was so deep… the blond found he couldn't tear his eyes away. He saw weariness and irritation, dissatisfaction and regret—all the things he normally saw in Sol, but also a spark; a tiny light of acceptance that spoke volumes more than anything the American would ever allow himself to utter. Their gaze held only for a moment before Sol was off again, working his way over buttons and buckles, teasing fair skin as it was exposed. Ky felt himself swell with heat, almost as if he were burning up. Moist breath dampened his chest and he went rigid.

There was some fumbling with fabric before a strong hand wrapped around him; a gasp breaking loose. The blond bit the other's name off sharply, now almost panting as a callused hand roughly thumbed him. There was a pressure building up inside him; it grew from his groin up to his chest and made him lose all sense of time and place. Slim fingers dug into the brunet's back as he leaned all his weight against the other's broad shoulders. Sol eased him down, sprawling the blond out on the wild field grass. It felt dry and prickly to Ky as he caught glimpses of starlight beyond broad shoulders.

There was a feeble voice in the back of his mind scolding him for his actions. Ky felt tears well up again, he knew he shouldn't be taking part in what was going on, but he couldn't help it. He no longer cared. He needed someone; all the fear and loathing, weariness and stress that had been slowly gnawing away at him finally tumbled over the last of his defenses. There weren't any words that could properly express what he was feeling now, other than, with Sol, he could feel at ease. The brunet didn't care about aesthetics or wartime planning. He wasn't bound to duty or ideals; he was a drifting, insatiable man, but one that Ky found he desperately needed—wanted, even.

Now dampened with perspiration, that firm hand began to move; sliding along his aching length and making the blond delirious with pleasure. The rhythm escalated and his breaths grew shorter with each stride. He groaned with longing frustration as a searing tongue suckled the more sensitive areas of his chest. Sol moved lower and the blond felt something nip his thigh. Ky twitched and thought he heard a low chuckle, but his thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by sensation. All he could focus on was the white-hot surge he felt as the other wrapped tongue and lips around his most throbbing member.

He inhaled sharply; his breaths were heavy but it felt like he was suffocating. An airy moan escaped him as fingers grazed him, pressing into the tender flesh beneath his shaft. Hips bucking, he arched off the ground, pressing into the other's touches. A tremor overcame him and Ky felt his world crumble away as that swelling of warm burst forth, draining from his body. He couldn't properly describe what he was feeling in that instant, other than _good_. Expelling what breath he had managed to catch in that wild crescendo of sensation, the Order Commander collapsed into those powerful arms. Inhaling deeply, he picked up a new scent; it made him throb again, though weakly.

He was tired, he was warm and he was content. Slim fingers rose to trace a stubbly jaw line as eyelids grew heavy. As they ghosted over surprisingly soft lips, Sol nipped one, biting it firmly before giving it a gentle suckling. The blond's other hand came up to pull the brunet's face down to him; Ky catching the older man's mouth in a deep kiss.

"I don't get you..." he spoke softly as he drew back. _But I suppose that's okay..._

* * *


	18. Part 18

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 18

* * *

"There's interference. Say again." Scowling, Reginald lightly twisted the dial on the transistor radio before him, but the message was still full of static.

"….heading...two... mark seven... ...target... ...kilomet-... rendezvous... ... ...hours..." The rest of the message was garbled out by the increasing buzz; their signal was fading.

"_Trinity_!" The Lieutenant barked into his headset. "Come in _Trinity_!" He twisted the dial more, still nothing but static. "Natashia!!" Infuriated, he ripped off his headset and chucked it aside. Greeves raised a slim eyebrow.

"You sure you should be trusting this woman?" he didn't even bother to hide his sneer. Natashia Rozengard was not a woman to cross and relying on her...well, that was like playing a game of chance. Before she had been convinced to join the Order, she was the self-proclaimed "Queen of the Russian Skies"; a ruthless sky pirate that men both feared and yearned for. With a quick mind and a sharp tongue, Natashia never hesitated from backing down in a fight or from giving someone a piece of her mind. Trying to give her an order was a complicated dance; she wouldn't budge for anything unless there was something in it for her.

Even so, she was the only stroke of decent luck Reginald had at the moment. He tapped a forefinger against his brow, still mulling over the scattered words in the message. A few hours before, Greeves rushed in with a notice that the _Trinity_ was in the area. The Lieutenant immediately sent out a message to the airship and prayed the sky pirate queen would heed his call. And for the past twenty minutes they had been attempting to communicate with the small training base; the garble of near-gibberish was the best the Medical Division leader was able to get.

"We don't have a choice," he replied smoothly to the blond. "At this point, we'll just have to assume they received the transmission and have accepted the mission."

"But still," Greeves pressed. "It's one airship. Even for the _Trinity_, that's a large area to search. Not to mention it's Gear territory. Something could happen."

Reginald removed his glasses and squinted slightly as the objects around him became blurry and slightly less colorful. The _Trinity_ was one of the better airships the Order had managed to secure, but it was Natashia's own ship, refitted for heavy warfare and transportation. The ship already had an impressive reputation for infiltrating Gear territory and leading successful raids and attacks; the dark-haired man was sure they'd be able to take care of themselves in this instance, should the need arise.

Still, there was an unsettling feeling in the pit of his gut. There were a lot of assumptions, a lot of "ifs" riding on this whole plan. It left a bitter taste in his mouth; he preferred to deal in solid facts. 'Even if things aren't going well, even if things seem overwhelming, as long as we have hope, everything will turn out fine.' He recalled a certain, naïve, knight telling him once.

_Hope..._

Blue eyes closed shut as he thought fondly of his Commander. A Commander who was still very much a boy; even if it were hard to see some times. _We just might have a chance_, he thought with a smile. _If there are people like him who still believe…_ Sitting up straight, he placed his spectacles back on and turned to Major Greeves. The Information and Scouting leader looked back at him questioningly.

"Sir?"

"We'll monitor the _Trinity_ from here as best we can, but keep me updated as the situation progresses." He spoke with a firm tone. "Contact me immediately should anything happen. And Greeves?"

"Yes, sir?"

Reginald let the corner of his mouth twitch into the barest of smirks. "Don't underestimate Natashia Rosengard."

* * *


	19. Part 19

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 19

* * *

Rain fell steadily, thrumming against the thin wooden slabs and dripping in a slow, controlled rhythm from the cracks in the roof. Sol sat beside the shack's only window, staring almost unblinkingly at the drops of water. It had begun raining a while ago; he had noticed the change in the atmosphere before the battle but the clouds rolled in faster than he had anticipated. Throughout the fight, the sky had thundered threateningly, but held off until after… after… well, after _that_. Sol felt the corners of his mouth twitch involuntarily. He didn't know quite what to make of the whole thing.

He had never planned for things to happen as they did, nor for the boy to fall into it so completely. There was a faint sting in his chest as he recalled what it felt like to be cradled in those slender arms; inhaling the blond's immaculate scent...to taste sweet innocence fueled by latent desires… The brunet closed his eyes and exhaled a deep, rumbling sigh. He supposed Ky was partly to blame as well. The young Commander hadn't exactly pushed him away during his advances and, Sol suspected, with a wry look at the other's sleeping form, the kid had partially wanted it himself.

The American had heard rumors of the Order's prodigy; the story of Ky Kiske spread quickly through the ranks of soldiers—how he wanted to join the Order young, not even a year after his mother's passing. To have a parent taken away from one at such a young age… Sol shut his eyes against the image of his own mother that had suddenly floated to the surface of his mind. He had almost forgotten what she looked like, but not quite yet. He leaned his head against the window frame. No doubt the French Knight was lonesome, having spent his youth probably fending for himself and the rest studying and planning campaigns. Things were lonely during a war… always having to be on guard, never resting; it wears a man out. And a boy would fair no better. There had probably always been something to keep Ky busy; to keep his mind occupied; to keep his feelings at bay.

Staring at the blond again, Sol traced the gentle outline of his body with his eyes, noting the few softer qualities that abounded him. Well, that was to be expected, the brunet told himself. Ky had yet to grow into manhood so he would still have boyish features. But there was something in those features that Sol found he couldn't ignore. Like a flash of lightning in a midnight sky, he was instantly captivated; there was something about the boy that demanded all of Sol's attention as of late.

Well, if that was the case, then so be it, he decided with a wry smile. He almost wanted to get up and rouse the blond, just to see if he could invoke another passionate response. There was a feeling of dissatisfaction mingling in his chest, but the humidity was beginning to set in. While it may finally be raining, the air still hung heavy and felt as muggy as ever. Tugging at his shirt again, the brunet averted his eyes to the sky.

The gray clouds hung low and thick. From his tiny window, Sol couldn't see an end to the steady stream of rolling gray. Occasionally, there would be a brief, stuttering flash, followed by a gentle rumble of thunder, but the worst of the storm had already past. Sol made a frustrated sound deep in this throat. The air was beginning to feel choking and he felt sticky all over. Struggling a bit, he succeeded in several minutes at pulling off his clingy shirt. He threw it atop the small pile of the other articles of his Order uniform that he had removed already. He contemplated taking off the limiter strapped to his head; the matted hair beneath was making his forehead itch, but he decided against it given his current company.

Sol raked a hand back through his spiky hair and wished there was something cool at hand that he could swig down. He stared longingly at the rain, which had finally started to drizzle off, but doubted it would offer much relief in this damnable heat. A snort of irritation escaped him; getting upset over it all wasn't going to make it better. At the very least though, with the rain letting up, they could continue on their way. Sol reached for his discarded clothing when something moved in the corner of his eye.

Ky was sitting up, seemingly alert, and staring at the older man. The brunet righted himself; watching as the boy's gaze never left him. _Oh the things that must be running through his mind…_an insidious voice whispered in the back of his mind because there he sat, naked from the waist up in a small enclosure. Hell, he wouldn't have to lean very far to be able to touch the boy. He set his mouth in a firm line as he gathered up the rest of his clothing.

"Oy!" Sol barked, chucking his shoulder mantle at the blond, which made the boy jump. He shrugged his undershirt back on, but left it mostly unzipped. "Get movin'," he added without so much as a glance back as he rose and walked out.

Ky's mouth screwed up into a scowl as he grabbed the white and red piece of cloth and scurried after the American. Sol was already back on the forgotten road by the time he had caught up with the taller man. He hurled the small mantle with all his might; it hit Sol Badguy in the shoulder.

"You jerk!" shouted Ky, his voice cracking as the other stopped to pick up the discarded piece of his uniform. Ky felt his ears burn.

"What the hell was that for?" Sol made no concealment of the annoyance in his tone.

"Because—" Ky began, but stopped when he felt his face get hot. He knew he was blushing, and profusely at that, and it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. He had a reason for being upset with Sol Badguy, but Ky couldn't bring himself to say it; it had been hard enough admitting it to himself. He wrought his brows and stared at the pebbles by his feet, hands clenched in front of him.

There was a light scattering of loose gravel as footsteps drew near. The American's larger form threw him in shadows as a firm hand held his chin and turned the boy's face up to a cold, crimson stare. Sol's upper lip began to curl into a snarl at the blond's indignation

"_What_?"

The brunet's tone and look had been so intense that initially, Ky was taken aback; but he resolved to show no fear to this man so he collected himself and glared back. He could feel the tension rising between them to dangerous levels. Channeling that energy, Ky thrust forward, jamming his elbow into the hollow of Sol's ribcage. Sol immediately let go and staggered back, choking a gasp.

"You…" Sol growled lowly before springing forward and spearing the younger Knight to the ground. He had pinned one of the blond's hands above his head; Ky's other hand had gripped onto Sol's long ponytail and was now pulling it hard. While the brunet's weight atop him was heavy, Ky didn't find it uncomfortable, but he was disadvantaged. He had half a mind to send a few thousands volts thru the older man but given that Sol was sitting on top of Ky, the charge would likely shock himself along with the older man.

Those blood orbs continued to throw daggers at him as the snarl rose in crescendo. Ky threw his weight forward but only succeeded in raising his shoulders a few inches from the dirt before he was slammed back down; Sol pressing a large hand against his shoulder. He squirmed, trying desperately to get free or at least get his legs under him. Sol pressed firmly back in response; probably leaving deep bruises in the blond's skin. Scowling, the young Commander tightened his grip around his subordinate's ponytail and pulled hard, bringing the older man's face uncomfortably close. Sol didn't flinch but the thin strip of leather he used to tie back his hair with fell loose; a curtain of fine brown strands fell like a veil around them.

"You're a despicable man," Ky seethed through clenched teeth.

For a moment, Sol looked entirely feral as the snarl suddenly changed into a sneer that showcased his teeth. "I know," he replied, his voice low and wispy, almost as if hissing, before he leaned in. Again Ky felt surprising soft lips touch him, pressed into the crook where his jaw and neck met. And again Ky felt that warm swell below his belly that immediately robbed him of breath and thought. Sol had released the hand he had pinned above the blond's head in favor of working the many clasps on the boy's uniform. A gasp escaped Ky before he was brought back to his wits; a sharp nip registered reality from that brief haze of heated fervor. Immediately he thrust the palms of both his hands against the other's chest and broke the contact. Despite being shoved off, Sol did not remove his eyes from the fresh, red mark on the blond's neck; there was now a tiny drop of blood swelling against fair skin.

A brief wave of panic had washed over Ky. His breaths were strained and heaving, his mind frozen to retort with anything. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming again but then he heard something. Something low…and humming.

The French Knight fixated on the sound, completely ignoring the other man (who was still straddling him). He strained his ears for that rumbling tone; his heart beginning to lift. The humming grew louder. Sol must have heard it to, his body twisted to the origin of the noise as crimson eyes narrowed. Leaves on the trees alongside the path began to flutter and rustle. As the rumbling hum grew louder the branches began to sway and swirl.

Ky felt the pressure in his ears shift as he stared up into the azure sky. There was no doubt in his mind now—a smile of relief stretched across his face as he and Sol were thrown into shadows.

"It's the _Trinity_!" the boy exclaimed as the airship's undercarriage passed over them. Out of the corner of his eye, Ky thought he saw a mild look of disgust on the American's face as he stood up. Sol gripped his sword and hooked his thumb in a pocket before trudging after the airship. Ky scrambled to his feet, scooped up Fuuraiken and tore after the brunet; elation racing in his heart.

Sol continued to maintain his silence and scowl as they stood in a clear field, waiting for the _Trinity_ to land. The wind whipped violently from the ship's four large turbine propellers, stirring up all kinds of dirt and loose debris as the whine of the engines slowly died down. When the airship had finally settled, one of the side hatches opened and the two were quickly ushered inside by a slim girl wearing a crewman's uniform. Once inside, the girl said something Ky didn't quite catch and he didn't know if she was speaking to them or to someone else; it was dark inside the cabin and his eyes hadn't adjusted yet.

There was a heavy _thunk_ as the hatch was closed and latched. It was noticeably quieter, though the rumble of engines still resounded throughout the steel structure, though distant.

"_Eta doroga, pozhaluysta_" the crewgirl said, motioning her hand in front of her before stepping out to lead the way. Ky began to follow but paused. He turned, noting that Sol wasn't behind him. The taller man still stood by the hatch, face turned to the portholes dotting the wall. Ky wanted to say something but suddenly found he couldn't properly form words.

Sol stared at the world beyond steel for another moment before turning on heel; heading off in the opposite direction. Ky hesitated before rushing to catch up with the crewgirl.

* * *


	20. Part 20

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 20

* * *

The crew girl lead Ky down a narrow passageway lined with brass handrails, passing a few oval shaped hatches before stopping at one and again motioning for him to follow. He stepped over the lip of the hatch and the two of them began heading down another tight passage, piping and more hatch doors lined the way. From the outside, the _Trinity_ was an impressive ship. Large, but not cumbersome; in fact she was quite a quick craft with the right person at the helm. Ky slowed his steps to glance at a sign but everything inside the ship seemed to be written in Russian. A few moments later, the crew girl stopped again and turned the latch on another door, ushering the blond inside.

The room was small—cramped even. There was a fold-down bed, a small table and metal armoire. Both the table and armoire were riveted to the floor and walls. Fresh linens lay folded neatly on the bed next to a set of clothing.

"Is Lieutenant's quarters," said the crew girl in broken English with a heavy accent. "For you, use. Shortly, doctor come see you." She made a motion directed at his head; Ky absentmindedly raised a hand to brush his fingertips against the wound. With another motion she lead Ky to another room a few doors down from the Lieutenant's. This second room was a very basic bathroom- sink, toilet and a standing shower, all of which were a cold and unfriendly steel gray. The girl bobbed a small bow and then turned, heading back into the maze of corridors and hatchways. Setting his mouth in a firm line, Ky headed back to his new quarters to see if there was a towel and a set of toiletries that he could use.

* * *

Papers were shuffled haphazardly into a coherent pile before being stuffed into a pack or carrying case. Voices shouted instructions over one another as tools clanged and banged. Field cots and belongings were dismantled and stowed away and slowly; the sea of campaign tents began to recede. Reginald took a bit more care rolling up Commander Kiske's maps as he packed up his superior's tent.

Orders had reached them in the early hours of morning; transport airships would be arriving in several hours to take them all to a new location so camp was in the process of being struck down. The Lieutenant paused as he placed the boy's teacups back into their padded box; his stomach churned a tight knot. They would be moving without their Commander and no word had been received yet on whether or not Natashia had been able to locate the two soldiers and retrieve them. And even if the _Trinity_ had, there would still be no word until they reached Order territory again; all ships ran silent, least they be overheard by hiding Gear forces.

"You're not the only one bothered by this," a low drawl came from behind him. Reginald turned to face Greeves, who was leaning against the center pole support with his arms crossed. He looked weary; organizing the camp's takedown had fallen to his shoulders and he had been the one to receive the message that morning so it was likely that he hadn't gotten any rest in the past day and a half.

"Everyone's a bit uneasy about leaving Commander Kiske behind," continued Greeves.

"I know…" Reginald bit his lower lip. "But we can't wait anymore." He shut the lid on Commander's tea set with a quick snap and latched it. "Any word yet from Natashia?" he asked, pulling out a pocket watch. Ever since contacting the _Trinity_, the Lieutenant had been obsessively checking the time. It had been seventeen hours since their radio transmission and each hour only made him more concerned.

"No, nothing yet." Greeves' voice was as flat as his expression.

Reginald pocketed his watch and composed himself. Now was not the time for doubts or misplaced concerns. He pulled one of the blond's campaign maps from the table and began to roll it.

"How much is left?"

"The nodes have been secured, and half of the recruit's quarters have been struck," the taller man's tone was dry. " Officer's quarters are being struck now and all the practice equipment has been packaged. The cooks have prepared enough food for the trip and have set out the last meal. I've scouts out securing the area; transport is due to arrive before sundown. Most of the men are restless though." He finished with a nonchalant shrug.

The Medical Division leader nodded as he slid the rolled map into its cylindrical container.

"There is a concern however," Greeves was suddenly serious. "We've accumulated more than what the airships can hold. Orders were clear though- one pick-up, as quickly as possible."

Reginald furrowed his brow. "I see…" Leaving soldiers behind wasn't an option; Order forces were thin so every able-bodied fighter was needed. On the other hand, leaving equipment behind, though feasible, wasn't a choice he liked either. With the Gears encroaching ever closer, he figured it wouldn't be long before those damned creatures overran the area they were in now. Leaving anything behind would be giving the Gears a free handout of supplies and information.

The de-facto camp Commander turned to his Sergeant, eyes hard. "Tell everyone to take only what they need. Destroy the rest. We can't give them any advantage."

Greeves inclined his head slightly. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Ky rubbed the plain, crew-issued towel against his hair, removing the last of the dampness as he stared as his reflection in the small mirror that was attached to the inside of one of the armoire's doors. While in the shower, he had noted the small cuts and abrasions dappling his skin that had been hidden by clothing or dirt. There was still a gash above his right brow, but it had already begun to scab over; the ship's doctor had declared it nothing to worry about. Bruises were on his shoulders from where Sol had so roughly pinned him down, but…he frowned deeply. There was also a red mark on the left side of his neck from where Sol had…Ky shut his eyes and shuddered.

He had a million and a half questions racing through his mind; and he didn't have answers to them. He wasn't sure if he wanted answers.

What was worse, he fretted, was the fact that he couldn't hide the mark. As soon as he left the small bathroom another crew girl was upon him, and took his soiled Order uniform away. The crewman's uniform he had been given to wear was slightly to big for his slim frame and it did not have a high collar at all. He wondered if he could just cover it with a bandage when there was a short, rapping knock on his hatch.

Sighing, Ky closed the armoire and opened the heavy door. The crew girl who had first greeted them stood before him; her face blank. The blond racked his brain for her name, but realized he had never been given it.

"Can I help you…Miss…." He faltered a little, mentally berating himself for sounding so timid.

"Sveta," she filled in. "Come now." She pivoted on heel without waiting for him. Ky stumbled a bit, as he forgot to step over the lip of the hatch and tripped. Sveta marched steadily down the tight corridor.

"Are we going to see your Captain?" the French Knight asked. If memory served him right, a former sky pirate commanded the _Trinity_; though Ky briefly wondered how much of a 'former' plunderer this captain was. He thought it suspect for the Order to enlist a sky pirate, but their need for airships and an experienced crew were great. Besides, it wasn't as if being an Order Knight was worth anything grand. It was dangerous work with little rewards. Perhaps sky pirates liked that sort of thing, he mused, still following Sveta thru the ubiquitous winding passageways. It reminded him of some of the bounty hunters that had been convinced to join their ranks. For them, the Order was a free flop with meals and they still got to do what they liked or were good at. This particular thought made him think of the loyalty of one particular Knight…. he set his mouth in a firm line as he felt his stomach drop.

What was he going to do with Sol?

He had to do something about the man; just ignoring it wouldn't solve things. And with all the other things that had happened…

Lost in thought, Ky didn't see the large object in front of him until he had crashed right into it. The large object made a questioning grunt and turned on him.

"Watch where you're going, boy," Sol spat as he stared down at the blond.

A low growl immediately rose in Ky. "Sol! You—" he stopped short when he realized that he had somehow lost Sveta. He glanced wildly behind him for any sign of the crew girl, but only saw empty corridors.

"Sveta?"

Sol grunted. "Lost your escort?"

Ky turned on him, glaring daggers. "This doesn't concern you!"

"Yeah it does…." Sol mumbled faintly with a non-enthusiastic sigh. He pushed past the blond and continued down the corridor. "You comin'?"

"How—" Ky cut himself short with another growl. His hands were balled into fists as he trailed behind Sol; the passageway was too narrow for him to walk beside the man, and he didn't have a clue how to get around the ship, whereas Sol apparently did. It just made him all the more irritated.

During the time Ky had spent cleaning up, it seemed Sol had also. His hair was clean and pulled up into its usual ponytail and the American's broader frame filled out the simple crewman's uniform rather nicely. Blue-green eyes watched the tip of that long ponytail sway for a bit before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around it.

"What'sa matter? You afraid you're gonna get lost again?" Sol sneered over his shoulder. Ky felt his ears burn, but didn't say anything. Thankfully, the brunet didn't goad him any further; the remaining minutes until they caught up with Sveta (who was waiting patiently outside her Captain's door) felt like an eternity to Ky. All he could concentrate on was the sound of heavy footfalls before him, and the silken strands of hair in his hand.

He sighed.

What was he going to do about Sol?

* * *


	21. Part 21

:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:

Upon a Moonlit Night Part 21

* * *

Natashia Rozengard sat atop her desk. In front of her lay a map of the region, a few notations sketched in colorful ink. A glass of port nestled in her right hand as she traced a finger across the map. Picking up a pen, she scribbled a pair of numbers over one location and then swirled the glass a bit before taking a sip.

There was a knock at the door.

"_Voydite_," she called out before taking another sip of the fragrant liquor. Her Master at Arms, Sveta, stepped in, followed by two men. The first was tall and wore an indifferent scowl on his face, and he was followed by a shorter, younger man.

"Ah, _komandir_," Rising, she reached out and clasped the younger man's hand in greeting. "Good to see you are holding well. Come," Natashia motioned to the desk and map. Ky moved to stand beside her while Sol stepped aside to slink against the bulkhead. Setting her wine glass down, the _Trinity's_ captain pulled the map closer and pointed a finger at one spot. "Here is where we found you," she slid her finger to the right, "and here is where your training camp was."

Ky studied the two places for a moment. He hadn't realized just how far they had been into Gear territory. His eyes tracked west from the first location as his mind reviewed the days and distances he and Sol had traveled from the Gear's base. To his dismay, the Captain's map did not show any of the towns that used to be. And any chance of locating that base again would be slim since he wouldn't be able to use the city ruins as a starting point, but at least he had a general idea now.

Back east, he wondered how the camp had faired. Ky knew things would be all right in his Lieutenant's hands, but that was on the assumption that they all were not overwhelmed by the ambush. The camp only had about one hundred Knights, most of them barely trained, but still better than nothing. He wasn't able to get a good estimate of the attacking forces during the fray, but given that a MegaDeath class Gear was present… Ky tried to swallow the ball of doubt that had built up in his throat.

"So where do we go from here?" he tried to keep his tone neutral.

"We head to Vienna, where we will meet up with main forces."

"Vienna? I thought the main forces were in Luxemburg?"

Natashia nodded. "They were. Kliff's relocated and set up base in Vienna for the time being. He's putting the Order's focus on the rising forces on the eastern front." She tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear and lightly dragged her finger over Russia's western states. "From Vienna, we head _podina_—to Russia." Reaching for her wineglass she sipped gently before speaking again. "Your troops are moving currently, or will be very shortly. That is why we are going directly to headquarters instead of returning you there."

Ky nodded, his lips pressed firm. It was a small relief to know that his men had not been completely wiped out. Undoubtedly there were heavy causalities, but the more lives that could be spared…

"_Chto eto_?" Natashia's words interrupted his thoughts as her fingers brushed aside the collar on his uniform, eyes studying the red mark upon his collarbone. She made a small noise in the back of her throat before turning her attention to Sveta.

"Take him to the infirmary and have that bite looked at." Pale green eyes traveled to the silent figure leaning against the bulkhead. "It looks poisonous," she added, narrowing her gaze into an icy stare and then sipped her wine again. Sol returned the glare and then glanced towards the bow of the airship, scowling slightly and stiffening.

"Sol?" Ky called out.

At once there was great noise as the room rocked to the side. Natashia and Ky braced themselves against the desk (which, like most furniture on board, had been bolted down) as Sveta stumbled a bit. Sol remained unmoved. Anything that had not been secured now lay scattered across the floor. A slightly distorted female voice bellowed out from the intercom speaker in the corner of the room, speaking rapidly in Russian.

A tense smile appeared on Natashia face as she listened. Downing the last of her wine, she tossed the glass aside before rattling orders to Sveta. A quick affirmation and the Master at Arms turned on heel, disappearing through the door. Natashia then turned to the two men.

"Well, seems we're in for a bit of a tumble. I expect your help—both of you," she added, snapping as she shot a glare at Sol. There was another loud noise and the room lurched again. Grabbing the bulkhead, Natashia continued, "I'll have us move into the clouds for a bit of cover, but expect hell. They are merciless in the air."

* * *


End file.
